A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers
by Piwakitt
Summary: A fun, light hearted parody with a little bit of everything in it. Humor, romance, Slytherin schemes, and mystery! Set during Hermione's 5th year at Hogwarts. Lupin visits McGonagall, Snape has a strange dream, Draco falls for Hermione, and Trelawney has a vision. Written (mostly) before the release of Order of the Phoenix. WARNING: Do not drink and read at the same time.
1. Midnight Madness, and Morning Mayhem

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

_with Minerva McGonagall/Remus Lupin_  
_and Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy_

It was six o'clock in the evening, and the train would be leaving in fifteen minutes to take the Hogwarts students back home during the Christmas holidays. Some of them would be probably be celebrating Solstice or Hanukkah, or maybe even Kwanzaa. But that is beside the point. The dormitories were filled with frantic students rushing hither and thither packing the last of their bags.

Hermione Granger had decided to stay at Hogwarts during the break. She sat in the Gryffindor Common Room calmly reading a book, vaguely aware of the commotion surrounding her. An exclamation erupted from Neville Longbottom, who was just about to rush out the passage door when he noticed his Remembrall was glowing bright red. He had forgotten something. And he had a feeling it was something important.

"What's the matter, Neville?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, I just forgot something," said Neville. After a pause, "I remember what it is now! I forgot my present for Grandmother. I bought it in Hogsmeade. It's too late now..."

Hermione glanced at the time. "No, it's not. You still have ten minutes before the train leaves."

"Yes, it is," moaned Neville. "I left it in the Potions dungeon."

"Oh..." Hermione frowned. "I'll go get it for you. You go downstairs; I'll meet you in the front hall."

"Would you? Oh, thanks, Hermione. I'm so glad you're here-" Neville broke off as she raced out the door. "Wow, she can really run, can't she?" he wondered out loud as she bolted down the hallway.

Hermione reached the dark dungeons of the castle in no time at all. Now, would the door to Snape's classroom be unlocked? Hermione gave the knob a twist and sighed with relief. She was so happy to be of aid to someone.

She entered the pitch-black room and raised her wand, uttering "Lumos." Immediately the light obeyed her command, and she strode forward confidently. Her eyes darted toward a large package tied with string lying upon the floor near Neville's usual seat.

With the present safely in hand, Hermione quickly retraced her steps and, rounding a corner, gave a sudden cry as she almost ran headlong into her nemesis Draco Malfoy.

"Watch where you're going, Granger," he muttered.

"Shouldn't you be getting on a train?" she spat, brushing past him. As their arms met, she felt a shock of electricity.

"I plan on it," he said, glancing back at her with those steely gray eyes of his.

Hermione continued on her way to the front hall, choosing to ignore his sour attitude.

* * *

In the front hall, Professor McGonagall was urging Neville to hurry up and take a seat in one of the carriages.

"But I'm waiting for Hermione," said Neville. "She's gone to fetch something for me. She won't be long, I swear."

McGonagall looked around the hall for signs of her star pupil. "And here she comes now. That's some luck you have there, Neville." Hermione delivered his grandmother's present and lingered at the threshold for a moment, looking out upon the procession of horseless carriages lit up against the dark night sky. There was a new moon overhead that evening, and the constellations of Orion and Canis Major were clearly visible.

"Looking forward to the holiday, Hermione?" asked McGonagall.

"Oh, yes. Very," replied the girl. No Potions classes with Snape, and no Draco Malfoy, either. What could be better?

Hermione suddenly thought of Draco downstairs and panicked. She asked McGonagall, "Has Malfoy already left?"

"No, I haven't seen him," answered the teacher. "I don't think he's gone yet."

Hermione was very worried that she'd have to spend the whole holiday with that creep, so she went back down to the Slytherin Common Room to make sure he didn't miss the train.

She met Draco halfway down the corridor. He was pulling his luggage behind him at a leisurely pace.

"What are you doing here again?" he asked suspiciously.

"Making sure you leave," said Hermione haughtily. "There are precisely six minutes left before the train departs."

"Don't get your knickers in a knot. They're not going to leave without the son of Lucius Malfoy," said Draco.

Hermione cringed at hearing him refer to his family so arrogantly. "It's just an accident that you were born into aristocracy," she remarked. "You needn't parade your name around as if it were something to be proud of."

"What are you so envious of, Granger? I thought you were glad to be a Mudblood," said Draco casually. "Look on the bright side-at least you know what it's like on the other side of the wall. And when I say 'other side of the wall,' I mean poor people."

"Oh!" scoffed Hermione. "I envy you nothing, you pompous windbag! At least I've learned how to work hard to get where I am. Not like you, who has everything handed down to him on a silver platter!"

"Actually, it's a gold platter," said Draco.

Hermione scoffed again. "I bet you're not even a real blonde."

"Oh, yes I _am_." Draco turned on her. This last remark had evidently succeeded where the others had failed to move him. "It runs in the family. I am a natural blonde, Miss Granger."

Her eyes narrowed. "You better hurry up; I don't want to be stuck with you for two whole weeks."

"Don't worry, I wouldn't wish your company upon my worst enemy."

"I return the compliment."

Draco sighed wistfully. "Two whole weeks without Granger. How refreshing. But don't fret, my dear. You may not have me, but at least you won't be completely alone. Ron and Harry are staying, aren't they? I've heard they're quite smooth with the ladies," Draco confided.

Hermione laughed. "Nothing could be farther from the truth, Draco. Just get to the punch line."

Draco paused. He would have told her that his informant was Moaning Myrtle, that pathetic ghost of an adolescent girl, but now his joke was ruined.

"What punch line?" he said. "I was being serious."

"Oh, sure. Like those two could ever pick up a girl, much less recognize flirting when they see it."

"I do believe you're making fun of your two best friends," said Draco. "You _do_ have a dark side! Commendable! Come to think of it, I _do_ see an evil glint in your eyes, after all." He smirked at her.

Hermione remained on her guard. One could never let it down around Draco Malfoy. "I don't know what you're talking about," she denied, secretly fancying that she had a dark side.

"I think you do," insisted the Slytherin. Together, they walked up the stairwell and into the front hall.

The front doors were fastened shut, and through the windows, they caught a glimpse of the last carriage as it sailed across the lake. "What the hell!" Draco swore. His unruffled exterior rapidly melted away. "Where is Professor Dumbledore!" he demanded.

"Maybe they've gone...to the Teachers' Lounge?" suggested Hermione. Her desperate plan had failed, but it was not entirely her fault. She _had_ warned him. It wasn't _her_ fault if people didn't heed her advice.

Draco glared at her. "I don't know how this happened, Granger, but somehow, you're responsible for it!"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I even bother helping people." She threw her hands in the air and began to walk away.

"And don't even pretend that you wanted to help me," declared Draco. "All you want is to be at the top of the class! And you don't care who you step on to get there."

Hermione ignored him.

"That's right; ignore me. You know it's true," Draco called after her. "Just as long as you're the smartest one in our grade, you can be nice to everyone else. But the minute you think someone is better than you, you have to hate them for it."

"What? That's not at all how I am," yelled Hermione, turning around to face him. "Why must you argue like this?" Whether she knew it or not, Hermione herself was glued to this impassioned feeling of combat just as much as Draco was.

"Because I'm sick of you acting like a hypocrite!" yelled Draco. "Let's get the facts straight: I'm the richest one here, and you're the smartest. You think your god-given brains make you superior to everyone else, but I have news for you. Being naturally intelligent is no different than being born into money."

"_Excuse_ me?" Hermione retorted, advancing toward him. "Are you telling me I act superior? As if you don't? You're the hypocrite, not me."

"Oh, fine. We're both hypocrites. Everyone's a hypocrite! Are you happy now?" said Draco.

Hermione said, "No. Actually, I don't know why we're having this conversation."

"Well, neither do I. Maybe if I hadn't missed that stupid train, I wouldn't be standing here-" 'Two feet away from your face...'

Suddenly, he didn't care about going home anymore.

"Hermione, you're so..." began Draco.

"Like a Mudblood?" she offered.

"No, you're just so predictable," said the boy.

Then he did something that not even Professor Trelawney could predict.

Draco took Hermione's face firmly in his hands and kissed her lips. She would have pulled away had the kiss not been extremely pleasant and even surreal. Hermione was so surprised that Draco Malfoy was a good kisser, she didn't even wonder why the hell he was doing it in the first place. And it had been such a long time since a boy had even danced with her... Females are apt to do strange things after being deprived of physical contact for too long.

Hermione broke away from him after a minute, breaking into rapid speech. "What are you, crazy? We're in the middle of the front foyer, for crying out loud! Anybody could see us! They could walk in here at any moment!"

Draco was looking incredibly sexy and rebellious. "That's what makes it so dangerous," he said.

Hermione was flattered, but terribly confused. "Why don't we go someplace more...deserted?" she suggested.

"Why? Are you ashamed to be seen with me?" he teased.

"No, but I hate explaining awkward situations."

"Me, too," he said. "How does the Slytherin Common Room sound?"

She got butterflies in her stomach at the thought of being in Draco's territory. "Oh, that sounds exciting."

"Really?" He smiled and gently drew her waist toward him.

Hermione nodded vaguely. She was off in a different world altogether-far away from Hogwarts. She wondered at this unexpected and sudden change of dynamics. Was it safe to continue with this frenzied attraction? For once in her life, she found it just a tad boring to consider all the consequences of her actions. And so, Hermione did away with reason temporarily, for Reason has no place in Nature, and Nature is the place from where her instincts undoubtedly sprung.

Draco had considered her sweetness endearing, but now he admired Hermione's recklessness as well. He gave her another peck on the lips, and they left for his common room without more ado.

* * *

At around eight o'clock that same night, Minerva McGonagall was calling an end to a long and stressful day. She slipped into a satin nightgown and took a few minutes to brush out her long, black hair. For professional reasons, she usually wore it in a bun during the day.

Minerva McGonagall was about to get into bed when there was a knock at her door.

She had a good idea who it was, but always on guard for another Hogwarts' emergency, she approached the door and said loudly, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Remus," came the reply.

Minerva smiled, at once relieved. "I don't think it's very safe to let a werewolf in my bedroom, do you?" she inquired playfully.

"Speaking as a former Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher," said Remus Lupin, "I'd have to advise against it."

Minerva unlocked her door, cracking it open an inch.

Lupin continued, "But speaking as Remus, I'd have to say..." He pushed the door open and gazed into McGonagall's soft blue eyes. _"Good evening, Professor."_

She smiled and, grabbing hold of his collar, pulled Remus inside. Then she swiftly shut the door.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor common room, Harry and Ron were playing with Crookshanks, Hermione's pet cat.

"Go on, go get it, Crookshanks!" Ron cheered. He was holding out a cat toy, a plastic wand with a red feather attached to the end of it. The cat was having fun chasing it, and sometimes it pounced on Ron's feet instead of the feather, just for variety.

Playing with Crookshanks helped to alleviate their boredom.

"Where can she be?" grumbled Harry. Somehow, it wasn't the same without Hermione.

Ron was puzzled by her absence, too. "She hasn't gone home. Maybe she's visiting the house elves. Or enjoying a bit of 'leisure reading' in the library," Ron ended with a smirk.

"Hmmph." Harry reached out his hand and tickled Crookshanks' belly. The cat walked up to Harry and rubbed his knee, purring contentedly.

Hermione waltzed into Gryffindor quarters at about nine o'clock bearing a muffin and a cup of hot chocolate.

"Where've you been?" asked Ron.

"I nipped into the kitchen to get a snack," said Hermione. "I'm utterly famished."

"After you stuffed your face at dinner?" Ron exclaimed.

Harry simply leaned back and listened to their conversation.

"I went for a jog tonight. It made me very hungry," said Hermione.

"You went jogging in this weather?" cried Ron.

"I find the fresh air quite stimulating at this time of year," Hermione explained, her tone of voice still pleasant. She ruffled Ron's red hair and walked up the winding staircase to her dormitory. Crookshanks followed her.

* * *

There were a couple of surprises at the Hogwarts breakfast table the following morning.

The first one was Remus Lupin, of course. He had resigned from the school over a year ago, and yet, here he was-spreading jam on his toast as calm as you please. The Headmaster Dumbledore would squeeze in some announcement regarding Lupin shortly.

Then there was the uncanny presence of Draco Malfoy, which came as a shock to everyone but Hermione. She hid her smile behind a linen napkin until the temptation to laugh subsided.

The third surprise was the new tradition of 'Secret Santa,' which we will get to in a moment.

Albus Dumbledore looked around. He was standing at the head of the table. To his left was Minerva McGonagall, the esteemed Professor of Transfigurations. She was sixty years old, which is to say, not very old at all. The silver streaks running through her black hair only made her appear more elegant. To Dumbledore's right sat Severus Snape, expert Potions maker. He was in his mid-thirties, yet seemed older due to the perpetual expression of gloom on his face. Sitting next to Professor McGonagall was her good friend Madam Pomfrey, the Nurse. The other adults present were Professor Trelawney from yonder Divination Department, the Charms Professor Flitwick, Rubeus Hagrid the Ranger, and Remus Lupin.

Students staying at Hogwarts during Christmas Holiday were: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley, Jessup (a 1st year), Sylvia and Chrystal (two 2nd years), Marvin and Elizabeth (two 6th years), and Elaine (a 7th year).

Dumbledore spoke, "Good morning. I hope you've all slept well. The first thing on my agenda is to welcome back a former teacher-Mr. Remus Lupin." He looked at Remus, who acknowledged the inquiring faces around the table with a shy smile. "Our first and second year students haven't had the privilege of studying under Mr. Lupin. He hasn't come here to teach, however, but merely to visit. He will, regrettably, leave as soon as classes resume in January.

"Secondly, we're trying something new this Christmas. I've been studying Muggle traditions in the ways of gift-giving recently, and I'd like to adopt one of their practices. After breakfast, everyone-including myself-will approach this cauldron behind me and wait for a slip of paper to pop out. Please read your paper and keep it tucked away from prying eyes. Whatever you do, don't let anyone else read it.

"This little game of mine is called 'Secret Santa.' Whosever name appears on your paper is the person that you must give a present to." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he thought of all the mischief this would cause.

"Now, let's enjoy breakfast, shall we?" he said with a flourish.

The assembly cheerfully followed his lead and began the task of filling their stomachs.

First up to the black cauldron was Minerva McGonagall (or 'my Mini Muffin,' as Lupin liked to call her.) She drew the name Trelawney. McGonagall's face instantly registered displeasure, though she kept silent and returned to her seat.

Severus Snape was next in line; he drew Hagrid's name.

Harry drew Ginny's name; Ron got stuck with Snape; Remus drew Minerva's name, and Hermione picked Madam Pomfrey. It was like some sort of poetic justice, really. The number of times Hermione had been in the infirmary definitely warranted recompense for Pomfrey's incredible patience.

Draco read his paper with a mixed expression on his face. It was impossible to tell whose name he had, but it looked as if he got summoned to clean a dirty bathroom. He pocketed the note thoughtfully and returned to his seat.

A delicate tinkle of chimes signaled the end of the meal, and they could now go back to bed if they so wished. Many of them were still in their nightclothes. Draco, for instance, was wearing his black bathrobe over a set of mocha-colored silk pyjamas.

* * *

"Minerva, may I have a word with you?" requested Dumbledore as the students were filing out of the Great Hall.

"Right now?" said Minerva.

"I would like to take a walk with you. Maybe in the greenhouse, if there's nobody there to overhear us."

McGonagall consented, and they went for a stroll. Professor Sprout's potted palms were still lush and verdant, and exotic birds were nestled in the canopy above their heads.

"This is becoming a dangerous situation," commented Dumbledore.

"What? You mean..." McGonagall began, hoping the look in her eyes would finish that sentence.

"Yes. I mean dangerous for Remus Lupin, with Malfoy here," said Dumbledore. "He's a meddlesome boy, and the last thing I want is for him to go complaining to his father about Lupin. Because, of course, Lucius Malfoy will complain about me and charge me with harboring a vicious werewolf. And I know that Lupin is taking every precaution against that unfortunate transformation."

"The full moon was two weeks ago!" cried McGonagall. "There won't be another one until after the holiday. We're all perfectly safe!"

"Yes, yes, I know. And if Lucius causes any trouble, I'll definitely mention it," Dumbledore reassured her. "Pardon me for saying so, but you and Remus make a very cute couple."

McGonagall blushed. "Oh, really? Yes, he does have the cutest smile, doesn't he? And the way he looks at me, he's just, aaaawwww... oh, I'm sorry, Albus. I'm being so mushy."

Dumbledore laughed. "No apology needed. You've worked so hard; I can't begrudge you a little romance now. And Remus, poor Remus. He deserves to have some love after all those years of being an outcast."

They were passing by the flower gardens just then, and McGonagall stopped to admire them. "I love those red roses," she said.

"Maybe somebody will give you one for Christmas," said Dumbledore.

Hoping that he was right, McGonagall said nothing. She was thinking about her first husband, who had tragically died fifteen years ago. Because she loved him with a love that could not be put into words, she refused to look at any other man ever since that dreadful day. Clothed in black, Minerva McGonagall went mourning for fifteen long years. Yet, somehow, Remus Lupin was able to break down the formidable barrier that McGonagall had built around herself. He looked at her, and softness came pouring back into her soul. McGonagall folded up her black robes and stored them in the back of her wardrobe, her strict demeanor melted into kindness once more, and the years rolled off her frame like water. She felt like the young woman who had fallen in love for the first time, and when she looked in the mirror, she was happy at what she beheld. Her delightful countenance-smiling and rosy and full of life. It was all because of Remus.

* * *

Hermione had agreed to meet Harry and Ron outside for a Quidditch game after breakfast. The weather was clear and sunny-perfect for flying. Harry got out a Quaffle and flew straight up in the air. They were just taking turns with chasing and goaltending, since there weren't enough players to have a proper match.

Draco appeared on the field while they were playing. He was holding his Nimbus 2001.

"Oh look, Harry!" shouted Hermione. "It's Draco! I think he wants to join us."

"His name is _Malfoy_, not Draco," stated Ron, "and he's _not_ playing with us! You couldn't possibly think of such a thing."

"You're awfully hard on him," said Hermione. "Did it ever occur to you that he might be friendly once you took the time to actually talk to him? You know, have a civilized conversation?"

Ron thought that she was playing weird mind games with him, so he did the only thing that a self-respecting male could do in that situation, which was to ignore her.

Harry watched in bewilderment as Hermione swooped down to meet Draco on the ground below.

* * *

Dumbledore retired to his private chambers. "Boy, did this ever backfire," he muttered to himself as he reclined in his old armchair. He held the small piece of paper closer to his spectacles, but it did not make a difference. The letters still read, 'Draco Malfoy.'

"Why must I give a present to that insufferable boy?" the Headmaster grumbled again. "Draco has been nothing but trouble since he got to this school."

Fawkes the Phoenix cooed in sympathy.

"Draco's going to end up just like his father if Snape doesn't stop favoring him."

_'And why do you let Snape keep teaching here?'_ asked the little voice in Dumbledore's head.

"Because without Hogwarts, Snape would be friendless. I'd be powerless to control him, and his actions would no longer be under my surveillance," Dumbledore said aloud. "He bears the mark of the Dark Lord. He depends on me. He trusts me with all his soul. If I were to fire him, he would surely go mad. And if Severus Snape loses his mind, and with nothing left to keep him on our side, he may rejoin the Death Eaters. I shudder to think of that, my dear Fawkes."

* * *

Professor Sibyll Trelawney arose from the table shortly after Dumbledore and McGonagall departed. The young psychic preferred to dwell apart from the other inhabitants of Hogwarts in a far tower of the castle where she could use her Inner Eye more frequently, for she found the material plane too mundane for her tastes. She taught classes there and was seldom seen out of it except on special occasions.

Before leaving the Great Hall, Trelawney announced to the remaining staff members, "It was a pleasure dining with you all. One can only hope that this is not the last happy meeting we will have together. I say this because of the omen in my tea leaves. It was quite unfortunate, and I feel I must warn you: terrible things I foresee from this day forth. Little does Dumbledore know how quickly the clouds of darkness gather. Everything is quiet before the storm, and Dumbledore's new game won't be enough to distract us from the deafening clashes to come." Trelawney's voice fell to a soft tremor. She glided out of the hall, her hands still trembling. The teachers gazed at her in silence until she passed out of sight.

"What did she see?" Madam Pomfrey said fearfully.

"Who knows," said Flitwick.

"If you ask me, it sounds as if we're in for a thunderstorm tonight," remarked Snape. He poured another cup of tigersquash tea, oblivious to the leaves in his previous cup.

Hagrid agreed. "Couldn't think of a better explanation meself," he said.

Pomfrey nodded her head. "Definitely thunder showers," the nurse chimed in.

Let it be known that it did thunder and hail that night, just as Professor Trelawney had predicted. The staff took note of this and later put together a dictionary of keywords such as 'clouds of darkness,' 'foggy mysteries of the future,' and 'relentless torrents of Fate.' That is how Sibyll Trelawney came to be the unofficial Hogwarts weather forecaster, though she never knew it.

* * *

The young Malfoy kept his calm as Hermione approached him. He did not smile, but there was something friendly in his expression, nonetheless.

"Good morning," said Draco.

"Good morning to you too," Hermione returned the greeting.

"What are you playing?" asked Draco curiously.

"Oh, nothing really," said Hermione. "We're just tossing a ball around. Trying to get past Harry. He wants to be the Keeper today."

"What about the Snitch?"

"We're not using it today. Not enough players," explained Hermione.

Harry and Ron were becoming impatient. Just then, Ginny came running out onto the field, her long red pigtails streaming behind her. "Ron!" she called. "Can I play, too?"

Ron groaned. "You don't know how to play, Ginny. And it's too dangerous. Go back inside."

Ginny, who was only a year younger than her brother Ron, stubbornly stood her ground. "Oh, Ron, you're worse than Percy! You're not even using a Bludger! And I know how to fly-better than you, probably. We learned in our first year, in case you don't remember."

"That may be so, but you can't play without a broom!" shouted Ron.

Harry interrupted him. "Why don't you lay off her, Ron? It's not like we're practicing for the World Cup."

Ginny yelled, "I'm playing one way or another, so like it or lump it."

Draco looked at her with a new idea forming in his brain. "Here you go, Ginny. You can borrow mine." He handed over the Nimbus 2001, and Ginny's eyes lit up with excitement.

"You really mean it, Malfoy? It's not cursed or anything, is it?" she inquired slyly.

Draco laughed. "No, it's not cursed. I'm letting you have a turn because your brother's being a stupid sod. Here, it won't bite."

Up in the air, Ron shuddered in horror. With a grimace he yelled, "She can't touch anything that Draco Malfoy's touched, can she? I mean, really, _can_ she? My own flesh and blood, riding on the same broom that came in contact with Malfoy's bum! And not to mention his sweat, and his-ewww! This is 'orrible, Harry! It's 'orrible!"

"Well, it wouldn't have happened if you just let her play with us," Harry pointed out. "She could've borrowed one from the supply room, like you and Hermione did."

"But did Ginny go to the supply room?" continued Ron. "NO! She settled for Malfoy's! That creep! Where does he get off pretending to be nice to my sister!"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, murmuring, "I don't know." To Ron, a day without a reason to complain about Draco Malfoy was like a day without sunshine. Harry was pleasantly surprised that Malfoy was being nice today, but he was pretty sure there was an ulterior motive. Time would tell what that motive was.

...to be continued


	2. An Afternoon Romp

_We bring you the second installment of_

**_A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers_**

_Now in Exciting Stereophonic Sound!_

* * *

The teachers were still enjoying their gossip in the Great Hall. The fire was burning steadily in the hearth, the chairs were comfortable, and there were at least five full bottles of Spumante yet untouched. Nobody was about to go anywhere.

"Ooooh, I wonder where Albus and Minerva have gone," said Madam Pomfrey, hinting at some conspiratorial element in their meeting.

"Perhaps Mr. Lupin could answer that for us," said Snape, fixing his powerful eyes upon the former Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher. Snape had always had a schoolboy grudge against Lupin, which had only grown over the years.

Lupin looked up suddenly. "I don't have any idea what they're doing."

"And why, may I inquire further, were you so secretive about arriving here yesterday? Stealing in here in the middle of the night, like some hunted beast?" Snape interrogated him.

"I had Dumbledore's permission a long time ago, Severus. I told him in advance that I planned on visiting," said Lupin. He could feel Snape's eyes boring into him.

"Oh, really?" Snape leered at him. "Might this visit have anything to do with your weakness for Professor McGonagall? I noticed the way you were going after her at the end of the year. We all noticed."

Lupin chuckled softly; he hadn't known until now just how miserably his attempts at subtlety had failed. He said, "My personal affairs are none of your business, Severus."

Snape was about to say more, but Hagrid interrupted. "There's nuthin' wrong with seein' an old friend. I think I speak for everyone when I say that Remus and Minerva are very cute together. We saw how they started gettin' chummy towards the end o' the school year, and we were all for it, weren't we?"

Except for Snape, everyone nodded vigorously. Madam Pomfrey affirmed, "Yes, we were. I remember, we used to talk about you two–" she looked fondly at Lupin "–in the lounge, and we said, 'Oh, those two would make a fine couple.' So you see, there's nothing to be shy about. We knew it all along."

Lupin smiled bashfully; his face was a bright shade of pink.

Pomfrey continued, "And I said it first, didn't I? Even before Sibyll predicted it."

"Sibyll _Trelawney_ even knew about us?" exclaimed Lupin.

Pomfrey giggled. "Well, you could say so. Anyway, Minerva was _so_ sad when you resigned from Hogwarts. There really was no way to console her."

"No way at all," echoed Flitwick. "I offered to perform a Cheering Charm on her, but she refused every time."

"I wish I'd known," said Lupin. His thoughts trailed off to the previous evening, reliving that breathtaking second when Minerva threw her arms around him, thus breaking their long separation. She reminded him of an animal–some graceful and dignified beast, like a lioness. But that was understandable, seeing as how Minerva was an Animagus and could transform herself into a cat.

"Say, Poppy," he said to Madam Pomfrey, "where _have_ Albus and Minerva gone off to?"

Instead of answering his question, Pomfrey giggled. "Aaaawww. Somebody has a girlfriend," she gushed in a sing-songy voice. "He can't be apart from her for one minute, isn't that adorable?"

At this point in the conversation, Remus Lupin opted to let them gossip on their own, and he went out to search for Minerva McGonagall.

* * *

Lunch was scheduled for one o'clock in the afternoon, and almost everyone arrived on time. The black cauldron was gone, but it was replaced by a charming little harp about two feet high. It was carven out of bone into the shape of a beautiful mermaid, and she was enchanted to sing along with the harp's music. They played on their own, unaided by human hands.

The plates and silverware were already laid out upon the bright red tablecloth. Dumbledore was the first one seated, early as always. He conjured up some eggnog while he waited.

Draco and Hermione entered the room side by side, walking quite freely and naturally. They were even laughing together over something. At the mere sight of this unlikely couple, Albus Dumbledore accidentally knocked his glass over–spilling eggnog all over his new tablecloth. A vulgar exclamation escaped from his mouth before he could stop it. Before anybody could notice his loss of composure, he quickly righted the glass, which was now empty, and hastily covered up the stain with several napkins.

Eventually, everybody had taken a seat in the Great Hall. Only Professor Trelawney was absent. She usually took meals in her own quarters, however.

Dumbledore looked around, waiting for the food to appear, and then remembered that the diners were expecting him to make some sort of announcement. 'Not another announcement!' Dumbledore thought. He had–without fail–greeted his staff and students at each and every meal since he became Headmaster. Frankly, he was tired of it. And his voice was hoarse today. Perhaps he could use International Sign Language. Hmmm... And what would happen if he also did his _spells_ in sign language rather than in Latin? Those ancient Greek wizards didn't speak Latin... Latin didn't even exist back then...

With a start, Dumbledore realized that he had kept his congregation waiting long enough, and he cleared his throat importantly.

"I'm only going to say one thing before we eat, because frankly, I'm sick of making announcements," stated Dumbledore. "This morning, when you read the name on your Secret Santa note, you were obligated by a magical contract to choose an appropriate gift for that special someone–even if he or she is not so special to you. If you purposely give this person a gift you know will be unappreciated–you know, something they'll really hate–you will have seven weeks of bad luck. And by reverse logic, if you put some thought into your gift and give them something they'll truly enjoy, you will have seven weeks of good luck. I do hope this is enough motivation for you people to be nice to each other," said Dumbledore, keeping a watchful eye on Draco Malfoy. The boy was sitting between Hermione and Ginny, and he wore a particularly innocent expression on his face.

Dumbledore clapped his hands, and the food suddenly materialized upon their plates, having been prepared earlier in the cellar kitchen by the Hogwarts house-elves.

Draco whispered something in Hermione's ear, and she nodded her head. He then withdrew a package from a pocket inside his robes and opened it. Inside were the most delicious looking chocolate truffles. Draco selected one and passed the box to Hermione. After a polite thank you, she put the succulent sweet in her mouth and licked her lips. Ron looked as if he would throw up any second.

"Oh, mint creams! My _favorite_," declared Hermione.

Draco turned to his left and offered one to Ginny. She checked to make sure nothing strange had happened to Hermione, who had already swallowed hers, and then nodded. Draco placed the mint-cream chocolate up to Ginny's lips and raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, a look he'd rehearsed in the mirror countless times before.

Ginny could not resist. She opened her lips and let him slide the chocolate inside her mouth. She closed her lips on his fingertips as he gently pulled away.

Ron muttered, "You sick, perverted bastard!"

Immediately, everybody stopped whatever they were doing to look at him–except for the harp, which continued to play.

Ron ignored them, directing his ranting at Draco, "What are you doing with my sister? How dare you! With me sitting right across the table!"

Another awkward hush befell the dining room, the strains of "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" filling in the gaps between the boys' outbursts.

"Oh, sorry, Ron," said Draco rather unapologetically. "I didn't know she was already taken. But now I see how things are in the Weasley family."

Ron shuddered. "No, Draco. That's only in _your_ family. Which reminds me, you've got plenty of female cousins, right? So why don't you hit on one of them?"

"Whoa, whoa. Let's get something straight, Weasley. I am not hitting on anybody," denied Draco.

Professor Snape finally cut them off, "What is all this nonsense about, Weasley?"

"Sir, he started it," declared Ron. "He's been feeding my sister chocolates–"

"Chocolates?" snapped the Potions teacher. "How dreadful. We must reprimand him immediately." Now grinning in amusement, Professor Snape assured Draco, "But of course, we won't do that. It's Malfoy's business what he does with his Christmas presents, and I don't want to hear another peep out of you, Weasley. Believe me, you do not want to be scrubbing floors during your holiday."

Ron's face had turned deathly white. He looked again at Ginny, who was very embarrassed that she'd caused so much uproar. She settled her eyes upon the bowl of soup in front of her, too shy to look elsewhere. The meal ended with Ron forcing down his stew in sullen silence.

Harry resolved to go to the school library directly after lunch. He had to find a reason for the way Hermione was acting around Draco Malfoy. And Ginny was affected now, as well. Some dark, unnatural magic was afoot, and it was only fitting that Harry and Ron should come to the aid of their friends and loved ones in their darkest hour.

Harry felt rather noble as they made their journey to the library. The thought, 'It's what Hermione would do,' kept running through his head, and it spurred him on. He wouldn't stop looking through the books, not even when all the letters blurred together and he became cross eyed. No! He would be like Hermione, and search and search and SEARCH until the Mystery was unraveled, and a Solution was found, and Order was once again restored!

* * *

Severus Snape was searching that day, as well. He was looking for a present for Hagrid among his collection of oddities. Snape's office was dismal and smelled of mold, and it was crammed from ceiling to floor with strange concoctions, shrunken heads, crows' feet and bat wings, and many expensive potions ingredients. There must be something in here that he could use; he surely didn't want to dig into his paycheck for that mindless oaf. Good grief, what was Dumbledore thinking when he set up the rules for this idiotic game? Snape had better things to do with his time than this.

Ah! On the top shelf, he saw an old beaver hat! It was almost the same style as the beaver hat Uric the Oddball once wore to a Wizard's Council Meeting. Old Uric had tried to prove that listening to Fwooper Song was beneficial to the health, but it only served to drive him insane. Actually, it wasn't a beaver hat that he had worn to the meeting; it was a dead badger, as Snape recalled now. Yes; this beaver hat was definitely the sort of thing Hagrid would wear.

Snape dragged a footstool over to the shelf so he could reach the hat. As he put his foot upon the top rung, the ladder started to wobble, and he lost his balance. Severus Snape came crashing down, banging his head on the hard stone floor and losing consciousness.

* * *

"Where do we look first?" asked Ron as they walked into the library. Already, he felt this task was extremely daunting, and he looked to Harry for help, as he always did, even though Harry was equally unqualified for the fine art of investigation.

Luckily, the Hogwarts' Library had a card catalog. You may remember what a card catalog is if you were alive before the years of computerization. It's a wonderful device that has a piece of parchment printed up for every book in the library. Harry suggested they look up 'infatuation' and 'impaired judgment' underneath the subject headings.

They found several books that contained directions for love spells and potions, a few books with counter spells, but nothing under 'impaired judgment.' Looking under 'judgment,' they found loads of volumes on court trials, divination, and how to discern between witchcraft and dark magic. The last type would be useful to Aurors, or dark wizard catchers.

Ron and Harry grabbed a couple books on love spells and began skimming through them at a nearby table.

* * *

Lupin longed to run his fingers through McGonagall's lustrous black hair, but hesitated to do so in public for fear of a student walking in on them. The couple was sitting on the veranda, making idle chitchat as an excuse to gaze into each other's eyes.

"I believe the library is free today," said McGonagall demurely.

"Oh, really?" said Lupin, raising his eyebrows.

McGonagall said, "With the kids on break, it's sure to be empty."

"So there was no need to make a reservation?" said Lupin, admiring the neckline of her bodice as she leaned forward.

McGonagall smiled. "It wasn't necessary. And besides, I feel like being spontaneous."

Lupin checked his pocket watch. "Well, the library closes in about five hours. I hope we have enough time."

McGonagall chuckled. "Five hours! Well, I should only hope! And if they come by to lock up, we can hide in the broom closet."

"Or in the Restricted Section," said Lupin.

"Oh, you naughty boy!" cried McGonagall, giving his arm a mild slap.

* * *

Dumbledore opened his office window to let in a furious-looking owl. It flew straight onto his desk, brandishing an envelope in its beak.

"Well, well," murmured Dumbledore. "Who can this be from?" He took the envelope out of the bird's beak, absentmindedly patting him on his fluffy head.

The letter was from Lucius Malfoy.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_I am certain that I dropped off one child by the name of Draco Malfoy at your school earlier this year. Now, unless I am capable of misplacing such a large object as my son, I believe he is still at Hogwarts. Narcissa and I demand an explanation for your failure to send him home properly. Right now, we are supposed to be attending a prominent dog-sled race in Canada. Draco was looking forward to it very much, so–pray tell me–what on Earth has kept him from returning home?_

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Dumbledore laid the note on his desk, saying, "I wish I knew." Then patting the owl again, he remarked, "What are they feeding you, steroids? You made that journey in a single night! Those crazy Malfoys."

The Headmaster sat down to pen his own letter.

_Dear Lucius Malfoy,_

_Your son Draco is alive and well and shows no signs of going home this winter. Heaven only knows why he is staying here, but he seems very content. I will ask him to send you a letter as soon as possible._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Dumbledore blew on the ink a bit to dry it, and then he carefully folded it up and stuck it in a new envelope. The owl looked at him eagerly.

"Why don't you rest a while?" said Dumbledore soothingly. "It's not going to kill them to wait a few more hours to hear from their darling Draco."

* * *

"Sudden attraction to an otherwise unappealing mate," Ron read aloud to Harry. "As depicted in William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, in which Titania, the Queen of Fairyland, was bewitched by her husband to fall in love with a man who had the head of an ass."

Harry snorted. "What the hell kind of story is that?"

"Wait! There's more," said Ron. "This man had the head of an ass because he was bewitched by the hobgoblin Robin Goodfellow, and guess what: the man's name was _Bottom_."

"Like Neville _Long_bottom! Ha, that is funny," said Harry.

"So, this Queen fell in love with an ass, just like Hermione fell in love with Malfoy," said Ron. "So it must be some sort of love spell."

"But why would Malfoy want Hermione to like him?" said Harry. "He's always hated us."

"I don't know! But just look at them!" shouted Ron. "He obviously likes her _now_! Maybe someone else has bewitched them both. I don't know."

"Maybe it was Snape!" cried Harry, with a mad gleam in his dark eyes.

"I wouldn't put it past him!" said Ron.

"But why would Snape..."

"To torture us, Harry!" yelled Ron. "Snape has always hated us, and he knows how much we despise Malfoy. He knows how much it would kill us to see Hermione with Malfoy– ignoring us–pretending that he isn't the Muggle-hating son of a Death Eater he is!"

"Okay, okay. I get the picture," said Harry.

The door to the library opened again, and Lupin and McGonagall slid through the opening. McGonagall started to giggle, and Lupin hushed her.

"Why are you shushing me? There's nobody here," she told him.

"But there might be," said Lupin, grinning boyishly. He wrapped his arms around her waist while she looked about furtively. "Just imagine that we're sneaking out after curfew, and we're trying not to get caught..."

"Oh, like a game," said McGonagall.

"Exactly, my little Mini Muffin," said Lupin, kissing the tip of her nose.

"I like this game," she said.

"I like it, too," he said, bracing her against the wall and kissing her lips.

Harry heard a noise like a human voice coming from the direction of the library door. "Ron, did you hear that?"

Ron nodded. "Snape's spying on us!" he whispered feverishly.

"No, I thought it sounded like Professor McGonagall," insisted Harry. "But it couldn't be; I heard laughing."

"Do you hear anything now?" asked Ron, straining his ears.

"No, it's gone away," said Harry.

Ron stood up and moved very cautiously toward the windows. "I'll sneak up on it, Harry. You wait here and keep watch."

"Why don't we just ignore it, and hope it doesn't come back?" asked Harry.

"Good question. And one that I don't know the answer to," said Ron. "Oh, wait. Aren't _you_ supposed to be the courageous one?"

"All Gryffindors are supposed to be courageous," said Harry, side-stepping the issue of his own bravery.

"Oh," said Ron. "But suppose it's _your_ turn today."

"Good grief, Ron. It's only some stupid person looking for a book," exclaimed Harry. "Come with me." He yanked Ron's arm and dragged him across the library.

McGonagall and Lupin heard the boys' footsteps approaching, and they hurried to make themselves presentable again. Lupin pulled his hand out from beneath her dress and quickly buttoned his shirt. McGonagall tidied up her hair as best she could.

They had just fastened the clasps on their robes when Harry and Ron walked by.

"Oh!" Harry gave a yelp of surprise. Ron accidentally bumped into him.

"Why, hullo Harry. Ronald," said Lupin shortly. "Quite the coincidence running into you two here."

"Er, yes," stammered Harry.

"Well, we must be off," announced Lupin. "See you at dinner time." He and McGonagall scurried out of the library in search of greener pastures.

"What was that all about?" said Ron.

"What do you _think_ it was about?" said Harry.

"I dunno." Ron shrugged.

"Oh, come on," said Harry. "They were fooling around."

"No!"

"Yes," Harry said. "They were definitely making out."

Ron thought about it. "But–but–but that's disgusting! You're talking about Professor McGonagall! She's not a–she's not a–well, you know, she's Professor McGonagall!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "They're not exactly old..."

"But they're not young, either!" cried Ron, still in shock.

"That doesn't matter." Harry explained, "They're adults; they're allowed to have a little fun sometimes."

"But _not_ in our _library_!"

"You're right; we have to draw the line somewhere." Harry sadly shook his head. He would never be able to think about Lupin the same way again, or McGonagall either, for that matter. Harry had to keep forcing out mental images of the two of them naked. It was not a pleasant daydream for the young Harry.

...to be continued


	3. Some Enchanted Evening

_The third installment of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

_is brought to you by:_

_Butterbeer._

_Fruitbat Barny says, "I'm just batty about Butterbeer!"_

* * *

Severus Snape was having a dream. His physical body was alone on the floor, unconscious, cold, and with nobody looking for it. Dinner came and went, and still nobody gave a thought to him.

Snape was dreaming of a long stairway. It swirled up and down, and there was a fat knight on a horse galloping through the oil paintings that hung on the walls. It was a spiral staircase. Snape was climbing the steps, and it seemed to take forever, but he didn't get tired. Then, at the very top, there was a ladder leading up to a room. He could smell something burning, and it reminded him of a cozy fire. He had a feeling that he should climb the ladder, and since it was a dream, Snape had no trouble at all pulling himself up the rungs.

At the end, he realized that he was in Professor Trelawney's tower room, and she was seated at a round table with a spread of Tarot Cards. He knew instantly that she was reading for him. Professor Trelawney then dissipated from the dream, and in her place sat a gray wolf. He seemed to be smiling at Snape and was panting and wagging his tail. A woman with long, shining hair stood behind the wild beast, stroking his thick fur. This woman was a wild thing herself. She wore nothing at all, and her body was clothed in her long, black tresses.

Snape went along with this, because it was a dream, and nothing is very surprising in dreams.

The woman bent down and kissed the wolf as if he were a tame pet, cradling his head in her gentle hands. Snape yearned to be in his place! He felt the uncontrollable urge to run over and shove the beast out of the way, but just then the animal let out a low, warning growl. The woman was powerless to control him, and he sprung away from her. He hurtled toward Snape and bounded upon him, and held him down with his massive paws. The wolf was about to sink his terrible fangs into the wizard's throat.

Then the world began to change, and Snape was shocked to discover there were no teeth embedded in his neck. His heart was beating rapidly, and his body was covered in sweat. He wondered where he was, and then his eyesight came slowly back. He was awake, and he was lying on the floor of his office.

Much time had passed since he fell, as he could tell by the rumbling of his stomach.

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were lounging in the Gryffindor Common Room after supper.

"Did any of you see Snape tonight?" asked Harry.

"No, thank God," replied Ron. He recalled that the professor hadn't appeared for supper at all.

"Oh, well," said Harry. "Say, Hermione, do you fancy a game of Wizard's Chess?"

Hermione replied languorously, hardly looking up from her book. "I'm sorry, but I'm already doing something with Ginny tonight. We'll be leaving in a few minutes."

"What are you doing?" pried Harry.

"Yeah, can we come too?" said Ron.

"Mm, no," said Hermione. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

Ron was staring suspiciously at the sack beside her. He pointed at it, saying, "What's in _there_? It looks like a suitcase."

"Really, I don't have time for all these silly questions. Why don't you two play chess together or something?" Hermione really wanted to finish reading Chapter 17 before she went out.

Harry tried to capture her interest. "Hermione–did I tell you who we saw in the library today?"

"Who?"

"Lupin and McGonagall," stated Harry. "They seemed to be in a pretty big hurry to get out of there when they saw us, too."

"I suppose Professor McGonagall didn't want you to know her lesson plans for next term," said Hermione.

"They weren't working on lesson plans..." said Ron.

"Oh, really." Hermione gave a yawn. "And what _were_ they working on?"

"Same thing you're doing with Draco Malfoy, no doubt," Ron muttered bitterly.

"That's nice," Hermione drawled. A split-second later, it dawned on her what Ron had said. "And just what are you implying?"

"Nothing, nothing at all."

The girl furrowed her eyebrows. "Why would I have anything to do with him?" she retorted. "Really, I don't know _what_ you boys are talking about. Where _do_ you come up with these ideas?"

Ron whispered to Harry, "Hopefully not the same place she gets hers from."

"I heard that!" Hermione snapped.

Harry looked at her very strangely. "Are you sure you're feeling all right, Hermione?"

"Of course," she said. "I just need some peace and quiet, thank you."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Then you shall have it."

Hermione stuck her chin a little further into the air and returned to her absorbing book.

Ron and Harry still doubted whether Ginny was really going anywhere with Hermione that night. They strongly expected Draco Malfoy himself to knock on the door and ask to see Miss Granger. Maybe he would be holding a bouquet of flowers.

The boys were somewhat surprised to see Ginny Weasley when she actually did come down the staircase. She was dressed in her school uniform and had a satchel swinging from her shoulder, similar to the one that lay by Hermione's side.

Ginny strolled over to Hermione. "Are you ready, Mionny?" she asked.

Hermione closed the book immediately, even though she was in the middle of reading a sentence. "Yeah, let's get out of here. I'm afraid I'll pick up whatever they have if I stay here another second."

* * *

Draco knew he had to write back to his parents; Dumbledore had told him before dinner. But right now, he had more pressing issues at hand.

Images of Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley came floating across his mind. He would see them soon. And they would be wet, at that. He could see them now: laughing and splashing in the water, wearing nothing but their swimsuits. Now _there_ was Draco Malfoy's ultimate daydream, soon to become reality.

* * *

Snape was rubbing his head on the spot where he fell. It was swollen and felt like an ugly blemish beneath his already greasy, unsightly hair. But he didn't care what he looked like. Why should he? There was nobody to impress.

The professor was standing at the foot of the ladder that led up to Professor Sibyll Trelawney's tower room. It seemed oddly like deja vu, the memory of the dream still vivid in his mind.

Severus Snape normally did not acknowledge the powers of Professor Trelawney. He had never even been in the North Tower before. However, he couldn't help but feel that his dream was a premonition–a message inciting him to visit the seer Trelawney. After all, he reminded himself, it _did_ thunder and hail that evening. Did Sibyll not say the words "deafening clashes" and "clouds of darkness?"

He didn't have a clue as to what he expected to learn. He only knew that his dream was too powerful to ignore. Therefore, he must conquer his newborn fear of ladders and scurry on up there before he changed his mind.

* * *

Draco was easing himself down into the water. His towel lay a couple yards away from the pool, and he was wearing bright yellow swimming trunks.

The shallow bottom of the pool was smooth as polished marble. Soft, white Christmas lights were strung up around the perimeter of the ceiling.

The mermaid in the painting had awoken from her nap and was pleasantly surprised by the unexpected company. Draco was about to ask for some privacy, but then he changed his mind. Who was he to deny a lovely mermaid a glimpse of his gorgeous self?

Just outside the door to the prefects' bathroom (which was off-limits to most students) stood Hermione and Ginny.

"Is this it?" asked Ginny.

"I think so," said Hermione. "I've never actually been here before." She recited the password which Draco had told them earlier and pushed the door open.

The sound of water lapping against the sides of the pool was strange and musical. It had a rhythmic quality to it that was magnified as it bounced off the bathroom walls.

The girls entered the room and set down their knapsacks. Draco pretended to be unaware of their presence as he finished his lap. He reached the far end of the pool and showed off his prowess with an underwater somersault. Pushing off the side with his feet, he propelled himself in the opposite direction, his body a streamlined model of agility as he shot through the water. He went above to get some air, and the movement hardly disturbed the pool's calm, glass-like surface.

Ginny removed her sweater. She was wearing her white blouse yet, and beneath that was her swimsuit.

"It's really hot in here," said Hermione.

Ginny merely nodded.

Draco looked up finally, coming up from a breaststroke. "What are you waiting for? Come on in, the water's great."

The girls smiled nervously and stripped down to their swimsuits.

"Oh, it's so nice and warm," sighed Hermione as she stepped into the pool. "It's like our hot tub back home."

"What's a hot tub?" asked Draco.

"It's like a really big bathtub. With jets of water that shoot out at you, and it feels like a massage," explained Hermione.

"That must be nice," said Draco. "It's been so long since I got a massage."

"Oh, really?" said Hermione. Come to think of it, his muscles did look tense. Perhaps she could help him loosen up.

"I don't know about you, but this past week has been so hectic," said Draco, hoping for a back massage. "I had three exams and that five-page essay for Professor Binns. All in one week!"

Hermione said, "I know what you mean. I've been studying all week, too. Not like Harry; he's such a procrastinator. It's so annoying! He waited until the last minute to write that essay for Binns, and then he wanted to look at mine! Yeah, like that was going to happen."

Draco shook his head in sympathy.

"But I suppose everyone procrastinates," said Hermione. "I'm just some weirdo who actually likes learning."

"No, you're not," said Draco. "You just don't belong in Gryffindor."

"What?"

"If you were in Slytherin, you'd fit right in. Everyone there is ambitious and hard working." Draco added as an afterthought, "Except for Crabbe and Goyle."

"You think I'm ambitious and hard working?" said Hermione, hardly believing that she was getting compliments from Draco Malfoy.

"No, I'm saying you're a hopeless Hufflepuff," said the boy. "Now, getting back to that massage idea..."

Ginny spoke up. "Can I go first?"

Draco said, "Actually, that's not a bad idea, Gin. Why don't you girls give each other a massage first, and I'll wait here for my turn."

Pretending to be outraged at this indecent proposal, Ginny splashed him with water. He splashed her back, and it soon erupted into a water-fight between the three of them.

* * *

The students were caught in a very compromising situation, to say the least, when Lupin and McGonagall walked in the prefects' bathroom. (They wanted to use it, too.)

Lucius Malfoy had always told his son to watch out for 'the shy, quiet girls.' They were almost invariably the most deviant ones behind closed doors. Somehow, Draco had ended up kissing both Hermione and Ginny while they were splashing around in the water. Then the girls decided that a little experimentation couldn't hurt. As Ginny had put it, "We can't let boys have all the fun."

So Ginny and Hermione kissed each other, and then they kissed Draco again, and the mermaid continued to watch with glee. She saw the whole thing play out, right until the end. Then she witnessed, still with her usual detached amusement, the three rule-breakers get escorted out of her bathroom by Professor McGonagall and Remus Lupin.

* * *

Hermione, Ginny, and Draco said not a word as the two adults led them up to Dumbledore's office. They scarcely breathed.

McGonagall knocked upon the Headmaster's door and uttered the password. The door swung open and she entered, leaving the children with Lupin while she explained the situation briefly to Dumbledore.

A few minutes later, the Headmaster was stationed in his armchair facing the three solemn-eyed youths who sat before him.

"You two may wait outside," he gestured toward McGonagall and Lupin. "I would like you to escort the students back to their respective dormitories after I'm through speaking with them."

"Yes, sir," replied McGonagall. Lupin nodded, and they left the room.

Doom hovered low above the children's heads. Not even a knife could cut through the tension.

Dumbledore looked very disappointed and even a little angry.

"This is not the first time that my students have acted in such a fashion," said Dumbledore, "but I hope it will be the last. Your private lives are none of my business. However, the prefects' bathroom is strictly forbidden to students, even the best and brightest of them, and this rule applies at all times of the year–including holidays. You must understand why I set this rule. Being a Prefect is a privilege, and it is only granted to a chosen few. It is a reward for academic excellence–and integrity. Are any of you Prefects?"

The children quietly shook their heads. Ginny Weasley whispered, "No."

Dumbledore sighed. "Hermione, I'm very surprised at your conduct. You are one of the smartest pupils in this school. I hope your intelligence hasn't given you a false sense of self-worth. We must all abide by the same rules as everybody else.

"And Draco. Draco Malfoy, how on earth would you explain this to your father?"

This statement might as well have been intended to have two separate meanings, for Lucius Malfoy despised the Weasley family almost as much as he despised Muggleborns like Hermione. Therefore, he would disapprove of his son's behavior for quite a different reason.

"You're also one of the top students here, Draco. Severus Snape is not the only professor to notice your talents. You ought to use them more wisely."

Dumbledore fixed his eyes upon Ginny, trying to seem gentler. His face was alive and alert even when softened. "Ginny, dear. You're a sweet girl and a hard worker, and clever, too. I want you to become a leader, someone who doesn't follow the herd. Sometimes we have to do what's right and not be swayed by emotions. It's a very difficult thing to do, but in time, I hope you will all learn to achieve it."

Albus Dumbledore glanced up at his clock and said, "I'm not going to punish any of you, since this is only your first transgression. You know, I'd actually like to send you all to the nurse."

The students appeared mildly surprised.

"Yes. Madam Pomfrey should examine you for any strange, er, enchantments. Just a brief check-up, really. Like going to the dentist once a year. I don't want you coming down with anything; they say the flu is going around like crazy."

The students could hardly believe their luck. Still, they felt extremely embarrassed.

"Oh, just one more thing before we leave," said Dumbledore quickly. "Draco, did you send a letter to your father yet?"

"No, sir," said the boy.

"Well, I'm not letting you leave this office until you've written it. I'll send it by owl myself. Now, where's that stationery?"

* * *

It took Madam Pomfrey several minutes before she fully woke up. Heaving a great yawn, she tied her bathrobe and trudged out of her bedroom, which connected to the infirmary by way of an adjoining door.

"Hello, Poppy," greeted Dumbledore, trying to keep things light. "I'm sorry to trouble you so late. I just have a small favor to ask of you. These three students need to be examined."

Madam Pomfrey turned her eyes to the children, claiming, "They look to be in fine health to me, Professor. What do you want me to examine them for?"

"Oh, uh," the Headmaster stumbled over his thoughts. He pulled the nurse aside and spoke to her in the sick room so they would not be overheard.

"They were caught together, under the most unusual circumstances, Poppy," cried Dumbledore. "You wouldn't believe me unless you saw it yourself, so I won't even bother telling you what Minerva and Remus found them doing–"

"My word!" exclaimed the nurse. "You don't say!"

"Wait, let me finish. I want them tested for every kind of love spell you can imagine–"

"That's quite a lot; it would take the whole night, it would."

"Then just check them for the most common ones," advised Dumbledore. "And also, I'd like you to run a thorough, er, psychological examination on each of them to rule out mental illness. Better to be safe than sorry, you know."

"I'll do my best, sir," Pomfrey said with a nod. She and Dumbledore went back into the infirmary, and the children were then subjected to Madam Pomfrey's motherly care and supervision.

...to be continued


	4. Trelawney's Vision

_The fourth installment of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

_is brought to you in Exciting Panavision Color_

* * *

"Severus, I've been expecting you," said Professor Sibyll Trelawney, her voice ringing clearly from the sitting room. She peered at him from behind the set of large, bejeweled spectacles that sat atop her nose.

Snape had ascended the ladder and was now afraid to go back down, so he wandered further into the darkness of Trelawney's lair.

"Severus," Trelawney called again. "It is you, isn't it?"

"Yes," the wizard said gruffly. He was moving very slowly to avoid bumping into the students' desks. "I can't see anything, madam. Where are you?"

"I'm over here," called Trelawney. She was seated at a small table gazing into her crystal ball, from which a dim light was emanating. She tapped the orb with her wand, and it glowed brighter.

"Thank you," Snape muttered. He meandered over to her table and sat down on the chair across from her, eyeing its rickety legs with mistrust. He suddenly felt quite large and overweight.

Professor Trelawney folded her delicate hands and looked into his face with curiosity. "How is life treating you lately, Severus?"

Snape squinted. "Wouldn't you already know that?"

Trelawney rolled her eyes. "Just for once, can't I have an ordinary conversation with somebody? Can't I just ask questions with my voice instead of using my Inner Eye all the time? I mean, it's a very precious gift and not one to be used for unnecessary purposes."

"I see," said the wizard.

"So, if you'll allow me to continue," said the psychic, pushing up her sleeves, "we will start with your dreaming life."

Snape glanced up sharply, meeting her eyes, and his flesh became covered in goosepimples. (1)

"How did you–?"

"I had a glimpse of this conversation," explained Trelawney. "I saw you sitting across from me at this very table discussing a strange dream of yours. So, let us not hinder Fate, but allow it to unfold along its most natural path. Tell me of your dream, Severus. I'm most curious about it."

"Well, I'm not sure where to begin. I was in my office, looking for something, and then I slipped and I... fell down. After that, I have no recollection. I must have blacked out," said Snape. Trelawney tilted her head expectantly. "I dreamt of you, and then a wolf, and there was a woman with long, black hair..."

"Minerva McGonagall?" suggested Trelawney.

Snape winced. "She was petting the wolf, or the dog, or what have you–"

"It was a wolf," Trelawney said sharply. "Don't change the details. You know what it was."

Snape was apprehensive now. It was a comical sight: the potions teacher with the long untidy hair wearing his black robes and a timid expression on his face.

"All right, then, Professor Trelawney. I will tell you everything!" he yelled defiantly, trying to mask his fear. "I had a dream about Minerva McGonagall. She was standing right over there, behind a wolf. She was caressing him, fondling him, and she was beautiful and young, and naked. I wanted her; I wanted to bring her down on the floor and ravage her–"

"Really, Severus. I don't want to hear _everything_," Trelawney broke in.

"Then the wolf charged after me and nearly killed me!" finished Snape, pretending that he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary.

"And what was _I_ doing in the dream?" asked Trelawney suspiciously. She hoped that she at least had clothes on.

"You were, well, you were just sitting there with some Tarot cards," said Snape. "And then you disappeared and the wolf was sitting there instead."

"And when you say 'wolf,' you mean Remus Lupin." Trelawney was speaking quickly now. "There is no way of getting around that, you know it, too. You long for what he has, and when you look at him, you feel jealousy ripping through your body. This jealousy inflicts more pain than his fangs could have done years ago. You know of what I am speaking: when you entered the Whomping Willow and almost met the werewolf face to face. You were spared from him then, but there is nothing to spare you from him now. I can see the pain searing through you. It is destroying your aura; it is tearing you up inside. Severus, you must stop this. You must stop this immediately. Cease this senseless obsession, lest your emotions betray you."

"But what can I do?" exclaimed Severus Snape. "I hate him! I want him dead! He ought to be in Azkaban Prison, that filthy werewolf!"

"Please, Severus," Trelawney implored. "I cannot read for you if you persist with this behavior. I will _not_ have negative energy poisoning my place of residence."

Snape put his head down, running his hands through the thick mass of hair upon his crown.

Trelawney had noted the desperate look in his eyes. She must be very careful what she say to him.

"In my experience," said Trelawney, "it's never too late to change one's outlook on life. You'd be amazed at the difference a new smoky quartz can make, or an hour of meditation, or even a new outfit. Ah-ha!" She paused dramatically. "Is _that_ how it's going to be?"

Snape looked up; the seer seemed to be talking to herself. "_What_?" he inquired suspiciously.

"Hmmm? Oh, nothing. I just had a vision," Trelawney said dismissively.

"What kind of vision?"

"Oh, something that will happen tomorrow," she said.

"Good or bad?"

"Good, very good," Trelawney assured him. "Tell me, are you in the habit of collecting shampoo bottles?"

"No..."

"Really? Because I see you in my vision, and you're surrounded by many bottles of shampoo," declared Trelawney. "I don't quite know what it means. I was hoping you'd be able to tell me."

Snape fidgeted. "I _did_ steal a hair dryer from Lockhart once," he admitted.

Trelawney murmured, "Aaahhh," nodding her head in a knowing fashion. "Yes, the hair dryer! I was wondering where that fit in! Now I realize what my vision pertains to. I saw you setting your alarm clock an hour early. And then you were standing amidst a torrent of falling water, cascading all over your body–"

"Not more thundershowers," muttered Snape.

"What was that?"

"I said I love taking showers," said Snape.

"Oh." Trelawney smiled warmly. "Yes, that is exactly what I was about to say. You will acquire an intense love of bathing, starting tomorrow. I have some conditioner you can borrow; the ladies simply adore the scent of a male fresh out of the shower. Ah, he smells so clean and vibrant! Not to say you aren't already vibrant. So, you will pay extra attention to your hair and skin, perhaps with the aid of some exfoliant, and then you will waltz into breakfast knowing that you are the spitting image of every woman's fantasy. You will be confident and charming, and your smile will glow. And your teeth–why, your teeth will be pearly white and sparkling! My, what an exhausting vision!" Trelawney sighed, wiping her palm across her forehead. "They _do_ tire one out."

"But it was fascinating," Snape said. "I had no idea that _any_ of that was going to happen tomorrow."

"That's why I'm the psychic, and you're the potions teacher," said Trelawney.

"Of course."

"Have you any more questions, Severus?"

"No, thank you. In the last ten minutes, I've had enough dealings with the Inner Eye to last me a lifetime."

Professor Trelawney smiled. "Why, that's wonderful. But do stop in again if ever you need to."

"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind," Snape remarked. He slowly stood up and walked toward the exit. Then, looking back briefly at her crystal ball, he climbed back down the ladder and descended the spiral staircase. Before going to sleep, he set his alarm clock an hour ahead and got out Lockhart's old hairdryer, just in case Fate neglected to remind him in the morning.

* * *

A luminescent object was hovering in front of Hermione's face.

"Open your mouth, dear," instructed the nurse, holding out the thermometer-like instrument. It looked suspiciously like a dentist's tool of torture.

Hermione opened her mouth, and Madam Pomfrey placed the object upon her tongue. "You two are up next," she called cheerfully to Ginny and Draco.

* * *

An hour later, Ron and Harry were pounding on the entrance to Albus Dumbledore's office.

"What do you want?" snapped the gargoyle next to the door.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore!" yelled Harry. "It's very important."

"What is this matter that's so important?" questioned the gargoyle.

"Hermione and Ginny are missing," Harry said quickly. "And we think Malfoy's behind it."

"Ah, that," said the gargoyle. "His Lordship has already taken care of it."

"His Lordship?" Ron gaped at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Pardon me, young Weasley. I meant to say that Dumbledore has already taken care of the matter. I suggest you return to your dormitory and get some sleep," the gargoyle said.

Pointing to the statue, Ron whispered, "What is this thing, Harry? Some new butler of Dumbledore's?"

"I guess so." Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe he's tired of answering the door all the time."

"Yeah, guess so." Ron shrugged. They returned to Gryffindor quarters, where they found Ginny and Hermione sleeping soundly on the two comfiest couches. The girls' examinations had been so long and arduous they'd passed out right there in the common room from sheer exhaustion.

Of course, Ron and Harry didn't know any of that. They stood there for several minutes scratching their heads over the perplexing sight in front of them.

"Harry–d'ya think they coulda been here the whole time, and we just didna notice 'em?" said Ron.

"You know, Ron, I don't know what to think," said Harry. "Maybe we'll figure it out in the morning."

"Yes, I suppose so," said Ron.

* * *

Alas, Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter did not figure it out in the morning. In response to the boys' obnoxious inquiries, Hermione and Ginny remained strangely silent on the matter of their whereabouts the previous evening.

Ron complained about this to his friend shortly after getting out of the shower. "Why is she always keeping secrets from us?" he whined, shaking water droplets from his red hair.

"She seems angry with us," observed Harry.

"Maybe," said Ron. "But we haven't _done_ anything. Why would she be angry?"

"She's a girl. They start acting funny at this age," explained Harry.

"Oh, yeah." Ron took Harry's word for it, since he wouldn't know himself. All of Ron's older siblings were males.

* * *

In the dining hall, three staff members were conducting what appeared to be a very confidential meeting. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey had received a summons to meet with Albus Dumbledore that morning. He wanted to follow up on the results of Pomfrey's physical examinations.

He gestured toward the empty table. "Have a seat." The women made themselves comfortable, and he proceeded with the meeting.

"Madam Pomfrey, did you find anything at all in the test results?" he asked.

"No."

"What was that?"

"No, sir. I didn't find anything at all."

"I don't understand... No spells? No dark magic?" Dumbledore was now pacing to and fro.

"The children are in perfect health," continued Pomfrey. "Absolutely sound in mind and body. You couldn't find a healthier batch o' li'l uns in all of Scotland."

"Do you say?" Dumbledore's voice had risen a whole octave.

McGonagall said, "Maybe I should have a talk with them–you know, individually. Hermione will talk to me, and so will Ginny. They can talk to me about anything."

"And what about Draco Malfoy?" said Dumbledore. "Do you think _he_ would talk to you, as well?"

McGonagall sighed. "I'm afraid the only teacher he would confide in is Severus Snape. And that man is in no condition to offer guidance to a young boy."

"No, no he isn't," said Pomfrey with a shake of her head.

McGonagall said optimistically, "But maybe there isn't anything to worry about. Look at it this way: ever since Draco came to this school, we've been hoping that he'd learn how to fit in with the other students and stop being such a stuck-up, racist Malfoy. And now he seems to be getting _nicer_. Maybe he's finally growing up."

"And maybe I'll finally have a permanent Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher," muttered Dumbledore.

"What, you don't think Draco's capable of changing?" demanded McGonagall.

"No, I don't. He's been groomed and polished as a Malfoy since the day he was born," declared Dumbledore. "I don't see what could make him change so quickly."

Just then, Severus Snape entered the dining hall. He stopped short as the teachers' heads swiveled around to stare at him. All discussion of Hermione, Ginny and Draco abruptly ended.

Snape was wearing a light fur cape of a silvery hue, and his hair had been washed at least three times, for it was now wavy and soft instead of oily. He had brushed it away from his face into a dignified ponytail, and it became him quite well, giving him a most aristocratic air. As Snape met his colleagues' eyes, he forced his lips into a smile. A smile–such an alien landform across his weathered face! However, his face did look somehow less weathered today. It was, without a doubt, because of the moisturizing lotion he'd rubbed all over his skin.

"How do you fare this morning, Severus?" McGonagall broke the silence.

"I'm no worse off than yesterday," remarked Snape, wishing they wouldn't stare at him so. He wasn't used to getting attention.

Dumbledore stepped forward. "Is that a new robe, Severus?"

"No; it belonged to my father," answered Snape. "So, what were you all discussing just now?"

"Nothing," said Dumbledore.

"Oh, really?" said Snape, scrutinizing the old man with his piercing black eyes. He could tell the Headmaster was lying.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, trying to shake off the unnerving sensation that Snape was reading his mind. "Why don't you take a seat; it's nearly time for breakfast."

"Are you planning on making any more alterations to this Secret Santa game?" questioned Snape as he sat down beside Madam Pomfrey.

"No. The rules will remain the same. I only have one change in my daily agenda, and that is to make my announcements in International Sign Language," stated Dumbledore.

"What?" the three adults exclaimed in unison.

"I do believe sign language is one of the most beautiful forms of communication used by mortals. In addition to being aesthetically pleasing, it is also universal–understandable to people of all different languages and dialects," said Dumbledore. "And I would like Minerva to translate for me."

"Why, sir," began Minerva McGonagall. "I'll try my best, but it's been such a long time since I've signed–"

"You'll do fine," said Dumbledore. "Oh, and I also have one more question. What belt is Remus up to now?"

"Fourth degree black belt," replied McGonagall. "Why?"

"It's about time we give the students something constructive to do," said Dumbledore. "They should benefit from some martial arts instruction."

"Oh, I see." McGonagall's eyes widened, taking in his meaning. Left to their own devices, the teenagers would naturally gravitate towards activities of a certain clandestine nature. They would have to be provided with more mental stimulation.

* * *

Those were the events leading up to McGonagall's fumbling and fuming at the breakfast table. Soon after the students and staff had all assembled in the dining hall, Dumbledore arose and cracked his knuckles noisily. Then, without warning, he began moving his hands in mid-air. To those unfamiliar with the language of the deaf, they appeared to be dancing.

"What is he doing?" whispered Ginny to no one in particular.

McGonagall struggled to keep pace. "Today is Saturday, December 23rd. We have two days left before Christmas, and you know what that means. Time to get settled down and think about what you want to give your Secret Santa partner. Professor Flitwick has agreed to teach us some useful charms for eating as many munchies as we like and not gaining a pound. Which reminds me–after breakfast, you will immediately go to the–what in the world is that?"

Dumbledore had made a gesture that was beyond her recognition. Trying to make her understand, he pointed to the wall.

"The wall?" cried McGonagall. "But why would anyone–"

Dumbledore shook his head. His hand was jumping over an invisible obstacle.

"You want them to go over a hill?" guessed McGonagall. "A sledding trip? No?"

Professor Flitwick joined in, "A skiing trip! With little bunny slopes!"

Dumbledore sent him a quizzical look. Flitwick whispered to the 2nd year Chrystal, "I thought we were playing charades. Didn't you?"

McGonagall ventured, "Oh, I've got it! Snow shoeing!"

Dumbledore wildly shook his head. "The Veranda," he enunciated. "I want them to gather on the veranda for a lesson."

"Oh," said McGonagall, folding her hands primly. She turned to the students, "The Headmaster would like you to report to the veranda after breakfast." Dumbledore made another series of signs. "For martial arts lessons, taught by Master Lupin–" The boys let out whoops of excitement. She translated the last words of his sentence, "'and Professor McGonagall.' Why, that's me! But I don't know anything about Tae Kwon Do!"

McGonagall clasped her hands together. "All right then, doesn't that sound like fun? I can hardly wait," she said without much enthusiasm and sat down to eat. She conveniently assumed that Dumbledore had no further announcements and spread a large pat of butter on her pancakes.

Now that everyone was no longer distracted by Dumbledore's rapid signing, several people noticed Snape's new look. Trelawney wasn't around to claim her work, so they had to endure their curiosity. Snape was not in the mood to make small talk.

"Can you please pass the maple syrup?" Draco asked Ron.

Ron took one look at Draco's downtrodden face and nearly fainted. "Am I in an alternate universe?" Ron blurted out.

"Yes. You're in a universe in which all maple syrup has been replaced by molasses," said Draco. "Now can I please have my syrup? Pancakes getting cold over here." He hated to reach over and grab the jar himself; it was so common. Draco was raised to have decent table manners.

"Okay," sighed Ron and passed him the jar of maple syrup. He thought he heard Draco utter a whispered 'thank you.' Ron raised his eyebrows, wondering what else could possibly happen today.

...to be continued

Footnote 1: "Goosepimples," incidentally, was one of the names under consideration before the founders of the school finally decided upon "Hogwarts." –from _Hogwarts, an __Exposé_.


	5. A Martial Arts Lesson

_the fifth installment of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

_will now commence_

* * *

The martial arts lesson turned out to be quite satisfactory.

"Minny, I mean, Professor McGonagall," said Lupin. "You can help me demonstrate this technique. It's called 'ho shin sool.' That's Korean for 'self-defence.'"

From their seated positions on the floor of the veranda, the children looked up with curiosity. McGonagall only shook her head. "I don't do anything I can't pronounce," came her reply.

"But it's fun! And it's very easy to pronounce. Listen again–_ho shin sool_," he enunciated more slowly.

McGonagall tried to shoot him a withering look, but her eyes betrayed her amusement. "I'm much too old to be tossed around like that Jackie Chan fellow," she protested further, but it was too late–Lupin had already seen the chink in her armor.

"But Jackie Chan is a Muggle! If he can do it, even Dumbledore can," Lupin insisted.

"I'd like to see that happen," McGonagall mused thoughtfully, cocking an eyebrow.

"Don't worry, Professor. I'm not going to toss you around." Lupin smiled, holding out his hand. "Come here, Minerva. Show them what you're made of. If I recall correctly, Minerva was the Roman goddess of wisdom, ingenuity, and warfare. You _do_ want to live up to your namesake, don't you?"

McGonagall allowed herself a smile. "All right, I'll give it a go. But only if you promise not to throw me around."

Lupin raised an eyebrow. He was about to say, 'I didn't hear any objections last night,' but then he remembered they were surrounded by students.

He chose to say instead, "I promise. Now, stand in front of me and grab my left shoulder with your right hand."

McGonagall placed her palm tentatively upon Lupin's shoulder.

He reached up with his right hand and squeezed her attacking palm, putting pressure upon the fleshy area below her thumb. At the same time, he slid his left arm inside her elbow and forced her arm into a crooked S-shape, causing her to double over.

"Ow, that hurts," cried McGonagall.

"Oh! Sorry, Professor." Lupin let her go. "When it starts hurting, that's when we tap our leg–like this. That shows our partner that we've had enough."

He turned toward the students. "What I did just now may look very simple and quick, but it takes a lot of practice to do it right. There are pressure points located all over the body–like the one on Professor McGonagall's palm that I just showed you. In order to hurt your opponent, you need to know exactly where these pressure points are. You can't be fumbling around during a fight. Your reaction has to be automatic–instinctual even.

"Now, who knows what the goddess Minerva was called in Grecian mythology?"

Elaine was the only one to raise her hand. For once, Hermione didn't participate. "Was it Athena?" asked Elaine.

"Yes! Very good. Athena she was. Five points to Ravenclaw!" Lupin declared.

Draco was grateful for this little distraction that Lupin and McGonagall were providing. He found it interesting. Who knew that Lupin was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do? So _that's_ what the man was doing now that he was out of Hogwarts: teaching bloody Muggles how to defend against members of their own species.

Draco slowly reached into his pocket and felt his hand close around a small glass jar. Everyone else was looking at McGonagall and Lupin. No one would notice Draco as he opened the jar and let the spiders go free onto the porch. There they went! They must've been hungry, those little buggers.

Draco screwed the lid back on and put the empty jar back in his pocket. He'd have to think of a new present for Ron now. Blast Dumbledore for adding more rules to this game! Draco wasn't about to risk getting seven weeks of bad luck just to hear Weasley scream like a girl. Seven weeks of good luck, however, were very tempting at the moment. Hermione was tempting.

Remus Lupin was now giving them a brief history of his sport. "Did you know that Tae Kwon Do is one of the oldest forms of martial arts in the world? It dates back to over two thousand years ago. That's older than Hogwarts."

A few yards away sat Ginny. She hadn't spoken to Draco at all that morning, and she now snuck a furtive peak at him. She thought he looked a little bored. Or was he glowering? No, he couldn't be mad, could he? It was _his_ idea to break into the prefects' bathroom. And after all, they hadn't been punished. Oh, one may _say_ that being trapped on the porch was a punishment, but it was more entertaining than not.

Remus Lupin had always been a popular teacher. He was especially so among the female students, a fact of which he was completely oblivious. Ginny forced herself to hold back a smile as she watched Lupin. He had the most luscious brown eyes. And the way his clothes fell on him, they were just begging to be ripped off!

"The Hwarang, which means Flower of Youth, was a group of elite warriors organized by King Jin Heung," said Remus Lupin. "The kingdom of Silla was very small and constantly under attack from foreign armies, so the King gathered together the noble born sons within his kingdom and trained them in what would eventually be called Tae Kyon."

Ginny wondered if Lupin was going to let the students practice with him one-on-one. It would be a dreadful shame if they had to just sit there the whole time watching him toss around McGonagall. Lucky McGonagall!

To Ginny's right sat Hermione, who was trapped amidst her own tangled web of woes. She hadn't heard a single word Lupin was saying, and yet she appeared to be studiously concentrating on the lesson. Hermione had done such a good job of listening in the past that she'd got the look down pat without even trying.

Her mind kept replaying the same fateful events over and over again. Her prospects of becoming a prefect now seemed dismal. If only she hadn't disobeyed the rules last night! And for what? To be with Draco Malfoy! Where was her mind? Why did she like him? Just a week ago, she couldn't see past his arrogance and hateful remarks, and now she was seeing a whole new layer of him!

Hermione through her muddled and tortuous reasoning kept arriving at the same conclusion: she must be insane.

But that meant that Draco was insane, too. Or maybe... No, Hermione didn't like the idea that Draco might be using her. He was sneaky, but he wouldn't use her. _Nobody_ would dare use _her_! The very idea was appalling. Hermione was a Force to be Reckoned With. People respected her.

Draco was... Draco was... Draco was being weird, like all boys, and that was that.

"...Tae Kyon. The Hwarang was not only taught how to develop their bodies, but their minds and spirits as well. They studied history, poetry, philosophy..." Lupin noticed that his students' attention had been diverted to a trail of spiders running along the wooden deck. Lupin continued in a slightly louder voice, "Ahem. Who wants to come up here and be my assistant?"

Ginny's hand went up automatically, and Lupin called on her to be his first volunteer. He assigned the other students into pairs and told them to watch carefully, as they would be practicing the next drill with each other. "Harry, Hermione. Ron, Elaine. Slyvia, Jessup. Draco, Marvin. Elizabeth, Chrystal. Very good. Now, everybody face your partner and give a bow."

Lupin asked Ginny, "Have you done any martial arts before?"

Ginny shook her head.

"Well, it's very fun. And we never actually hurt each other in these self-defence drills. Except for the pressure points; those hurt sometimes, as you've seen. We may practice grabbing and throwing our partners down on the ground, but we never actually punch or kick anyone. We come very close to the body, but we never punch, kick, or strike while we're not wearing our sparring gear. If I see anyone who's not taking this seriously, I'll have to ask them to leave. You need self-control for partner drills.

"Now, then. I'm about to teach you a Green Belt self-defence move, Ginny. We start learning self-defence at the Green Belt level. You're going to be the attacker for now and grab my wrist. My right wrist, with your left hand," he instructed, and she firmly grabbed his wrist, wondering what would come next. "Now I step forward into horse riding stance. In Korean, we call this stance 'choo choom sogi.'" He bent down low, slid his right foot along the ground and positioned it between Ginny's legs.

"At the same time, I jerk my arm out of Ginny's grip, turning my whole torso, and then do an elbow strike to her solar plexus. Then comes a backfist strike to the face." He did these maneuvers in slow motion at first, and then a second time, more swiftly. As he did so, Ginny couldn't help but notice the intensity radiating from his eyes. It was a mixture of focused energy and deep concentration that she found irresistible.

"Now, I'll be the attacker, and you can be the counter-attacker," said Lupin, blissfully ignorant of the hormone induced thoughts that were dashing through her mind. "Do you remember the steps?"

Ginny nodded. "Mm-hm."

She and the rest of the students executed the drill numerous times until it was well polished, and thankfully no one got injured. Lupin then showed them how to do some kicks, using McGonagall for his assistant once again. McGonagall did so grudgingly, being the type of woman who would rather go waltzing across a ballroom floor. In the days of her youth, she had enjoyed Quidditch. But that was over forty years ago, and Quidditch was poles apart from 'that Jackie Chan stuff.' Nevertheless, McGonagall was beginning to develop a tolerance for this new sport. It was bearable if one didn't work hard enough to get all sweaty. One did have to maintain a professional standard of hygiene, for goodness' sake.

* * *

Snape ventured a peep out the window, trying to remain inconspicuous. The children's lesson was almost over, and Lupin was teaching McGonagall how to do a front snap kick. Snape forced his lungs to take in a deep breath of oxygen; it was so difficult to breathe when Minerva McGonagall was nearby.

Forlorn, he let the curtains fall back into place and walked away. He had to get out of the castle. He couldn't stand these feelings building up inside of him; they were like waves upon a storm-tossed sea. Just when he thought he had a moment's peace, he was rising to the top of yet another crest of agony. He needed a distraction.

* * *

The Headmaster was in the kitchen supervising the house elves' work when Snape approached him.

In response to Dumbledore's raised eyebrows, Snape informed him, "I'll be in Hogsmeade this afternoon. There are several potions ingredients I need to stock up on. I've run completely out of erbsen juice. Those pesky students better not be breaking into my cupboard again–"

"Very well, Severus," said Dumbledore.

"I would like to bring Draco Malfoy with me."

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes. He is very eager to learn more about the intricacies of potion making," explained Snape. "I'm sure Lucius would agree with me that Malfoy ought to be doing something productive with his holiday, since he isn't spending it with his family."

Dumbledore went through the pros and cons very quickly in his head. Pro: Draco Malfoy would be out of his way. Cons: ….?

There were no cons as far as Dumbledore could see, and so he allowed Snape to drag the boy along with him.

Dumbledore thought of another pro after Snape left: Lucius Malfoy would be pleased that Draco was brushing up on his studies. Maybe one of these days, Lucius would stop griping about the way Dumbledore ran his school.

He was suddenly yanked out of that fantasy by a house elf who came to him with an anxious confession. Dumbledore silenced a groan. It was always like this–whenever he came out of his office, he was bombarded with problems. If it wasn't, "The sink in the third floor washroom is leaking," it was "The garbage dumpster near the Quidditch field is overflowing," or "Somebody has petrified another one of the students." It was simply impossible to get anything finished unless he holed up in his office for hours at a time.

"Master Dumbledore, sir," the house elf, who was called Blinky, solemnly addressed him. "Blinky is regretting to inform you, sir, that a whole set of the good silver is missing. Blinky is terribly sorry, and will gladly submit to any punishment you is seeking fit to devise." The house elf lowered its head in shame.

Dumbledore gently placed his hand on the creature's head. "Thank you for letting me know, Blinky. I will look into the matter. You may resume your chores; no blame will be assigned to anyone until we have solid evidence."

The house elf appeared to be disappointed at the lack of punitive action, and it went back to polishing the silverware with much reluctance.

Dumbledore was troubled by this recent incident, which reminded him of something else though he could not bring it to mind. It had something to do with... sparkly things, like jewels. And hourglasses perhaps. It was right there–the hint of a memory hovering right at the edge of his perception. Why could he not recall it?

Then he realized he'd already tucked that memory away in his pensieve. 'Fat lot of good that does me now,' he thought. He would have to go back to his office at some point to retrieve the lost memory. Perhaps it would give him a clue to the cutlery thief's identity.

* * *

Draco caught Ginny's gaze as she looked over at him. She waited for him to speak, but he merely gawked at her, not knowing what to say, and she averted her eyes as she scurried up the stairs.

Draco sighed. She was heading up to the Gryffindor Common Room, no doubt. Hopefully, things would soon go back to normal. Well, not normal, exactly, but back to the way they were last night, maybe. He and the girls wouldn't feel awkward and guilty forever, would they? He _would_ get another chance to–

"Malfoy!" The voice calling his name belonged to Severus Snape. Draco looked up to see his professor swiftly advancing down the corridor toward him. "We are going on a trip this afternoon."

"We are?"

"I've told Dumbledore that we're going to Hogsmeade to stock up on more ingredients for potions class."

"Are we all going? All of us students?" asked Draco.

"All of you? Oh, no. It's not a class trip," said Professor Snape as if the thing were out of the question. He looked around the empty hallway and, lowering his voice, he enlightened his protege further, "Just between you and I, Malfoy, we're not staying in Hogsmeade. I have very important business at a certain establishment in Knockturn Alley. I strongly suggest you accompany me; it will be very educational."

'Educational' is not a word that elicits much excitement, unfortunately. Draco, who much rather preferred to stay behind, asked, "Are you serious?"

"When have I ever _not_ been serious?" his teacher uttered thickly.

"Oh, you are serious then."

"And we're leaving as soon as possible, so I recommend you run along and grab your things. Meet me back here," instructed Professor Snape.

"Yes, sir," Draco replied half-heartedly.

* * *

Their time in Hogsmeade was brief as promised. Once in the village, Professor Snape immediately led them into an old tavern with a fireplace in the back room. Several gruff looking wizards were standing around a billiard table with tankards of ale in hand, playing a friendly game of 8-ball. They barely looked up from their game as the newcomers entered the room. Draco wondered vaguely what they were doing drinking at eleven o'clock in the morning.

"What are we doing here?" asked Draco.

"We're using Floo Powder," answered Snape. He walked over to the massive fireplace and withdrew a velvet pouch from his pocket. He sprinkled a bit of floo powder into Draco's upturned palm. They were gone in a wisp of green smoke, and the other wizards didn't bat an eyelash, not even when the words "Knockturn Alley" were uttered.

A second later Draco found himself in a narrow alleyway wedged between two brick buildings. At the end of the corridor he could see the crowded streets of Knockturn Alley. It was here that the true Slytherin at heart could be free from the fluorescent Christmas cheer that permeated the rest of the world at that time of year. There were no multi-colored light bulbs lining the storefronts. There were no tacky advertisements to buy rubbish that nobody needed. And best of all, there were no couples walking side by side holding hands. They were spared from that sickening sight, thank God. People who needed people were the most pathetic creatures on Earth.

"Do you know what a Runespoor is?" Snape questioned him as they pushed their way into the throng.

"Yes, it's a type of snake," Draco answered.

"Correct. And that is the purpose of our trip. We're here to buy one," said Snape, keeping an eye out for pick pockets as they moved through the crowd.

"I heard you can only get one on the black market," said Draco.

"Yes, that's true. You have a good memory."

"Why do we want one?" asked the boy.

The professor replied, "The Runespoor has the unique ability to lay eggs in its mouths. These eggs have special properties, and it is for these properties that I desire to lay my hands on a Runespoor."

Draco tapped into his memories of potions class. A Runespoor–a three headed serpent with black and orange markings. "Their eggs are used to stimulate mental agility, aren't they?"

"Precisely," said Snape. He slowed his walk; up ahead he could read the sign for Cerridwen's Karaoke Bar. Just beyond that was a pet store called Steve's Exotic Animal Emporium. A cacophony of wild and disturbing noises could be heard in the distance. Their unearthly vibrations sent a shiver down Draco's spine. He started to regret his decision in coming along, although looking back on it, Snape hadn't given him much of a choice.

"Can you keep secrets, Malfoy?" asked Snape.

Draco said thoughtfully, "It depends on how much I get paid."

"Ah, very good. Now, if we succeed in taking care of this Runespoor and keep it hidden from everyone else in the castle, we will be able to win back our glory from Gryffindor. I trust that will be payment enough for your silence."

Draco was beginning to catch on. Snape continued, "With the Runespoor's eggs, we can make enough potion for all of Slytherin House."

Draco interrupted, "But we don't need it! We can beat Gryffindor without any potions! They're lazy, ignorant bums!" 'Except for Hermione and Ginny,' he thought.

"I understand your pride, Malfoy. I feel the same way. But for the past four years, the House Cup has been handed over to Gryffindor when it rightly belonged to Slytherin. It's because Dumbledore is prejudiced against us. Perhaps he is getting senile in his old age. Who knows? I am merely evening out the playing field. There will be no way for Dumbledore to play favorites by the end of the year," declared Professor Snape. "We _will_ destroy our competition. And Minerva McGonagall will learn she can't have everything she wants."

Draco couldn't help but admire his professor's ingenious plan. As Head of Gryffindor House, McGonagall had enjoyed the coveted House Cup for four years too many. But they were now ready to take action. This streak of injustice would not go on!

Snape quickened his footsteps, walking hurriedly past the karaoke bar. Draco followed suit with hands pressed tightly against his ears. A mild terror came over him just then as he identified the true source of the strange, infernal noises he'd been hearing. Morbid curiosity caused him to glance inside Cerridwen's Karaoke Bar as he passed by, but the windows–being covered in a deep layer of soot and grime–had long ago lost their transparency. Perhaps it was for the best. The two Slytherins quickly entered the pet store, which was–out of sheer necessity–enchanted with sound proof walls. Except for the occasional sweet call of an African Fwooper Bird, it was actually a very quiet space.

...to be continued

stay tuned for _Chapter 6: Draco's Story_


	6. Draco's Story

_the sixth installment of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

_is brought to you by:_

_Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover_

* * *

"I don't know what's wrong with me," sobbed Hermione, tears streaming down her face. In need of a confidant, she had gone to seek out Professor McGonagall, and the two were now having a heartfelt conversation in the professor's private office.

"There's nothing wrong with you," McGonagall said, sliding a box of tissues across the desk.

"But Harry and Ron don't understand me at all. They never did," Hermione lamented.

"There are some things boys will never understand about us. But you must have some female friends you can rely on," said McGonagall.

"There is Ginny," said Hermione. "She's a good friend, she really is, but I wish that Harry and Ron understood me more. And they're making such a big deal about Draco Malfoy, and we got in trouble last night, and now he's never going to talk to me again!" she screeched.

McGonagall winced as the vibrations hit her eardrums. "Who is never going to talk to you again?"

"Oh, I wish that things could go back to the way they were," moaned Hermione. "The way they used to be, before Draco–before Draco–before he kissed me!"

McGonagall could hardly imagine why the two young people would want to kiss each other. They'd been enemies ever since they first met. "I don't understand, Hermione. You and Draco Malfoy are like oil and water."

"I don't understand it, either!" wailed Hermione. "But I suddenly saw this other side of him, and he's cute now, and we played _Quidditch together_!" She grabbed a tissue and loudly blew her nose.

"Would you really like things to go back to the way they were?" asked McGonagall thoughtfully. "Do you truly want to hate Draco again? And do you really want him to go back to seeing you in that old light?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, no, anything but that..."

"Then I suggest you try to relax today and don't say anything you might regret tomorrow," advised McGonagall. "Once the two of you calm down, you and Draco will resume your...er, friendship."

Hermione began to sob, "No, we won't..."

"Yes, you will," McGonagall found herself saying, much to her dismay. What evil entity was compelling her to utter these words? Draco was no proper suitor for Hermione. McGonagall sighed; she was continually at a loss for why teenagers acted the way they did. She had expected Hermione to have more sense than the rest of them. If only that were the case...

McGonagall hoped her next words would succeed in pacifying the girl. "Things like this happen all the time. Friends become distant, or they quarrel, or there's been some kind of misunderstanding. But then they work it out and get back together. If it's meant to be, then it's meant to be. So why don't you take a few deep breaths–or a hundred–and just wait until you're both ready to talk again. I see no reason why a pair of mature, intelligent young people shouldn't be able to patch things up, as long as both parties are respectful and considerate of each other."

Hermione smiled a little. "Thanks, Professor. I'll try to relax. I–I guess I'm over reacting." She brushed away a tear streaming down her cheek.

"That's all right," said McGonagall. "We have to express our emotions, or else we'll go crazy. It's no good to bottle anything up."

Hermione nodded, sniffling.

McGonagall added, "I'm glad you came to talk to me. If you don't remember anything else from Transfigurations class, I want you to remember that no boy is worth suffering for. Not a single one. If a boy makes you miserable, then there's obviously something wrong with him, and he needs to be tossed aside. But for your sake, and Draco's, I hope he's not one of the rotten ones."

"Thank you," said Hermione.

* * *

Severus Snape held the reptile loosely in his hands and calmly watched as it slithered up his arm and onto his shoulder. The Runespoor's scales were surprisingly smooth and cool to the touch. She was an exquisite specimen indeed.

"Can I hold it?" asked Draco, watching him with envy.

"No," said the professor.

"But you said I could," Draco whined impatiently.

"Not yet!"

One of the serpent's heads coiled around Snape's neck, and he delighted at the sensation of her silky scales caressing his flesh. It was almost a guilty pleasure. The other two heads were hissing serenely as Snape held their body in his hands. There was an unspoken, intuitive connection between them.

"Can I hold it now?" asked Draco, who was becoming very antsy. In a nearby aquarium the shell of a jewelled Fire Crab caught the light in just the right way, and it attracted his attention with its mother-of-pearl luster. The longer he examined it, the more it reminded him of a certain cauldron his grandfather owned.

"Malfoy, you are not to touch anything in this store with a ten foot pole," ordered Snape. He ignored the scowl on his student's face and stared deeper into the Runespoor's three sets of eyes. He was trying to think of a name for her. How would Sebastian sound? Hmmm... Not edgy enough. Besides, that was a boy's name. What about Avril?

He turned to the store employee who was assisting them and said, "It is a girl, right?"

"Yes, of course," answered the pale, slender man. He flashed a smile, and in doing so revealed a set of pointy canines.

Snape eyed him suspiciously. The vampire better not be trying to sell him a useless male that wouldn't lay any eggs. He turned to Draco. "Malfoy, how do you like the name 'Avril'?"

"For the snake?" asked Draco.

"No, for your future daughter with Hermione Granger."

"Oh, well, we haven't talked about that yet," said Draco absentmindedly. He realized too late that he'd said those words out loud and tried to recover from his slip-up. "Ha, ha. Just kidding. Who would want to marry that filthy Mudblood? I knew you meant the snake. Yeah, Avril is an excellent name. Very edgy."

"That's exactly what I thought," said Professor Snape, giving his protégé an odd look. Could it be that the boy had actually fallen for that Mudblood Granger? If so, he was in even worse straits than Snape himself.

"I think you'll be very happy with her," the undead employee told them. "She's a young snakelet, not yet fully grown. Within a few months, she'll double in size. And she's at a good age for taming. Older Runespoors become wild and are harder to domesticate, but this one here is young enough she'll end up bonding with you as long as you handle her on a regular basis."

After a thoughtful pause, Snape made up his mind. "I'll take her."

"Do you need a crate?" the employee offered. "Or perhaps a dozen mice?"

"How much would it all come to?" inquired Snape.

"We have a sale today. It's only fifty Galleons for the Runespoor, an extra seven Sickles for the carrier and mice," the vampire replied, licking his lips. Slytherin wizards were always appetizing to him.

Fortunately, Professor Snape didn't notice that his neck was being ogled. He went about his business as usual. "I'll take everything for 50 G 7 S." It was a good price.

"All right. Just a moment then." The employee disappeared into the backroom to grab the supplies.

Snape continued to play with his cold-blooded companion. His attachment was so keen, Draco wondered if his interest in obtaining a Runespoor had been solely academic, or if he had secretly desired a pet all along.

Draco also wondered how Professor Snape would manage to tear himself away from the animal. They would eventually have to stow her away in the crate to smuggle her into Hogwarts castle; there was no question about that. Avril was, after all, highly illegal contraband according to the Ministry of Magic. The penalties for owning such a beast were probably quite severe.

For the time being though, Snape was free to bring Avril everywhere. He traipsed about with the Runespoor proudly draped over his shoulders while Draco lugged around their extra purchases. Avril quickly turned heads in Knockturn Alley. Forget whatever Trelawney said about shampoo; wearing a snake was the way to get attention–around these parts, at least. The cute waitress at _The Hound of Baskerville's Steak and Bar _even fell under his serpentine spell. She gave him a wink and scribbled down her owling address on the back of their receipt.

* * *

There were four individuals in the Gryffindor Common Room. Ginny and her new friend Elizabeth, from Hufflepuff House, were practicing Tae Kwon Do moves, and Ron and Harry were sitting in front of the fire discussing their latest plan.

"Harry!" cried Ron. "I have an idea!"

"I'm listening," said Harry.

"Why don't we use your Invisibility Cloak to spy on Malfoy?" suggested Ron.

"That's bloody brilliant!" cried Harry. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because I thought of it first," said Ron.

Harry nodded. "Where is Malfoy?"

"I don't know," said Ron. "Let's put on the cloak and find him! Maybe he's with Hermione right now! We'll catch him in the act-"

"What?! Why would we want to do that?!"

"Oh, not _that_ act! But whatever he's doing, we'll catch him at it!" said Ron.

Ginny, having finished her set of ten roundhouse kicks, informed Ron of Hermione's whereabouts. "She's not with Draco. She went to talk to Professor McGonagall," said Ginny.

"Oh, Ginny!" cried Ron, who had almost forgotten she was in the room. "I-I meant to ask you a question, but you flew away this morning, and-"

"I know. I meant to do that," said Ginny. "You're annoying lately."

"Where were you last night?" Ron demanded.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again," said an exasperated Ginny. "That's none of your business."

She performed a double knife hand strike in his direction. Elizabeth clutched her blue flannel scarf, laughing in amusement. She found Gryffindors very entertaining.

Ron glowered at Ginny and resumed his whispering with Harry. "So why don't we take the Invisibility Cloak and use it to spy on Hermione?"

"That's brilliant!" said Harry again. "Because we'll find out more that way! She won't tell us anything if she knows we're there, but if we're invisible we can hear her talking to McGonagall!"

"Exactly!" said Ron. Harry scrambled up to his room and unlocked his trunk. Two minutes later, he and Ron were exiting the common room under the shroud of invisibility.

* * *

Draco looked down at the juicy T-bone steak on the plate before him; it was barely touched. He and his professor were seated at a table by the window, eating lunch amidst the rustic atmosphere of _The Hound of Baskervilles Steak and Bar_.

"Professor Snape?" the boy said furtively.

"Yes?" muttered Snape, through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"I'm afraid I've done something wrong," said Draco quietly.

"What do you mean, 'wrong'?" Snape sounded annoyed, but since that was his usual tone of voice, Draco paid no mind.

"I...I'm afraid I took too much of that larghe vedute serum," Draco admitted.

"What do you mean, 'too much'?"

"Just like I said–too much. Remember how the instructions said not to take more than two servings a day?" asked Draco.

"Yes, I know the directions," said Professor Snape, who didn't need to be reminded how to handle his own potions.

"Well, I sort of overdosed. I didn't mean to, but after I gave some to Hermione, everything–just–spiraled downward from there," said Draco.

Snape looked at him sternly. "Don't tell me you've used it all up," he said.

"Oh, no," said Draco. "That's not it. I still have a lot left. But Hermione–and Ginny–I let them have some."

"Well, what's the problem?" asked Snape.

Draco said earnestly, "I think I'm addicted."

Snape shook his head. "You're not addicted."

"But I love it!" cried Draco.

"There is no way for you to become physically, mentally, or in any other way addicted to Larghe Vedute Serum," stated Professor Snape. "The addictive properties of opium disappear when mixed with whale blubber."

"Really?" said Draco.

"Yes. The only reason the directions warn against taking too much is to ensure that nobody runs off to join some alien-worshipping cult, or gets suckered into a get-rich-quick scheme, or decides to give all his money away to some half-assed charity."

"Oh."

Snape concluded, "If you genuinely love being on Larghe Vedute Serum, then the only thing you're addicted to is being open-minded."

"Oh," said Draco again. He was even more confused now than he had been five minutes ago.

"There's no reason why you should have to stop using it," said Snape.

"But what about Hermione and Ginny? They have no idea they were using it," said Draco. "I want to tell them. I want to let them in on it, but they might be mad at me."

Snape remarked, "You didn't tell them? Well then, how on earth have they been taking the serum?"

"I, um, may have accidentally transferred it to them..."

"Out with it, Malfoy."

"I kissed Hermione, after I put the potion on my lips. You know, as a lip balm," explained Draco. "And I let Ginny touch my broomstick, after I was carrying it, so that's how she first, well, that's how she came in contact with the potion. And then, I injected some of my chocolates with it and fed them to Ginny and Hermione at lunch yesterday."

"Well thought out," Professor Snape commended. "I suggest you tell them about your little potion while they're in a state of open-mindedness."

"Oh, I will," said Draco quickly, wondering how and when he would get another opportunity to see them again.

Draco had been having flashbacks all throughout the morning. He kept thinking about Thursday evening in particular–when he missed the train back home. It had only been two nights ago, and yet it seemed ages.

Before we examine Draco's version of how events transpired, let us become acquainted with the recipe for Larghe Vedute Serum, as copied below:

* * *

**di Larghe Vedute Siero (or **_**Open-Mindedness Serum)**_

**Ingredients:**

**2 cups Whale Blubber**

**1 sprig of Eucalyptus**

**3 Mint Leaves**

**9 drops of Nectar from a Snapping Opium Poppy**

**1/4 teaspoon of Powdered Fairies' Wings**

Step #1...Melt whale blubber in cauldron until it becomes easy to stir. Lower heat.

Step #2...Stir in the rest of the ingredients one by one. The mixture should become translucent, with a slight tinge of blue (from the fairies' wings).

Step #3...Promptly remove from heat and let stand until the mixture attains a jelly-like firmness. Scoop the serum into any durable container and enjoy. The serum may be taken internally or applied to the skin. It makes an excellent lip balm and moisturizer for dry, chapped skin. It is also effective anywhere else upon the skin's surface.

Serving size: Depends on the personality of the individual. For most, a dabbing of the balm upon the lips will induce open-mindedness immediately. For long-lasting open-minded thinking, ingest (1) teaspoon of the serum once daily.

This serum is highly potent. It cannot be stressed enough that one is not to exceed **2** servings in the course of one day.

* * *

On the evening that Draco missed the train home and ended up kissing Hermione Granger, he only remembered later that night what allowed him to kiss her.

Draco recalled that while he was packing his suitcase, he noticed that his lips were chapped from the cold, dry air. In his haste he grabbed the first thing he could find, which happened to be the Larghe Vedute Serum, and dabbed it upon his lips.

He'd inadvertently induced himself into a blissful state of open-mindedness!

'But maybe it's not so bad after all,' Draco thought to himself that first night as he lay in bed unable to sleep. He'd made out with a girl in his dormitory, and that wasn't something that happened every day.

But with Hermione Granger! The girl with the Muggle parents!

Draco's mind was troubled. He groped along his bedside table and found the jar of larghe vedute serum. Convincing himself that just a little more wouldn't hurt, Draco dipped his fingers into the jar and spread the salve all over his hands.

Within seconds, Draco was at peace again. The internal struggle was gone, and Draco went back to having warm, fuzzy thoughts of Hermione Granger. Come to think of it, she _was_ a pretty girl. Draco liked girls with fluffy hair. And Muggles weren't as bad as his father always claimed. Muggles were quite ingenious the way they got along without magic. No wonder Hermione was so smart! Draco smiled and drew the bedclothes around his chin. He liked the minty smell of larghe vedute almost as much as he liked the smell of Hermione's hair. They were beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful...

Draco was soon fast asleep.

When he awoke the next morning, he was wary of appearing in the Great Hall for breakfast. The thought of encountering Hermione filled him with dread. She had only kissed him back because the larghe vedute serum had got on her lips when he kissed _her_. That allowed Hermione to clear her mind and see the real Draco–the one that was cute and quirky and debonair, not to mention incredibly intelligent. By now the potion would have surely worn off, and she would go back to hating him!

But when Draco saw the look on Hermione's face as he sat down to breakfast, he knew that she didn't hate him anymore. Did she have a real change of mind? Well, just to be sure, he would have to reapply the potion the next chance he got. He liked it when Hermione didn't automatically dismiss him. If he could keep her open-minded long enough, he could permanently win her over with his natural charms.

These were the memories that kept haunting Draco as he struggled to finish his steak. Until now, he never knew what it felt like to lose one's appetite.

Snape was attempting to feed Avril some of his leftover venison.

"Um, professor?" said Draco. "I don't think deer is natural prey for the Runespoor."

An affronted Avril turned all her three heads away from the meat.

Snape finally gave up. "I suppose she'd rather have a fresh kill, anyway."

...to be continued


	7. A Long and Pointless Afternoon

_we bring you_

_the seventh installment of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

* * *

Hermione had left, and Minerva McGonagall was alone in her office. She pulled out a catalogue from her private desk and began leafing through it.

"Speedy Delivery—Your Package will arrive in 24 Hours or Less!" announced an advertisement on the first page. Minerva put on her silver spectacles and flipped to the Divination Section.

A few minutes later, a movement past the doorway caught her attention. She turned her head but saw nothing. How odd! She could've sworn that somebody had just walked by.

Then the person returned: it was her dashing young man, Remus Lupin. He placed a hand on the doorjamb and gazed at Minerva from across the room. Smiling tentatively, he said, "Hello, Minny."

"Hello, Remus," said Minerva, pushing the book away from her. "Please come in. I've just been looking through this silly catalogue."

Remus entered the room and, spying the empty chair that Hermione had been using, walked over to it and sat down.

Minerva was now at eye level with him. "I have to buy a Secret Santa present for Sibyll Trelawney," she confided.

Remus smiled, peering at the pictures on the open page. "Ah, that would explain the Unbreakable Crystal Ball," he said humorously.

"Oh, that! I have no idea what Sibyll needs. It seems like she has everything as it is."

"Well, you don't have to get her anything magical," said Remus. "I've found Chinese fortune cookies are very good. Does Sibyll have a sweet tooth?"

Minerva raised her eyebrows thoughtfully. "Perhaps. Hmmm. Maybe I could transfigure this book into a whomping big tin of fortune cookies."

"Could you do that?" Remus exclaimed, his stomach reminding him that lunch was close at hand.

"Yes, I think so," said Minerva. "I could turn each page into a separate cookie, but I'd have to practice first, or else they might taste too much like paper."

"I hate it when that happens," Remus said in sympathy, still keeping his eyes upon her. He thought to himself that she looked more beautiful every time he saw her. Today she was donning a gray, woolen capelet around her shoulders, which was fastened at her neck with a row of elegant buttons. "I like your cape, or, uh, whatever it is you call that," he said, suddenly wishing he had more knowledge of clothing terminology. "It's different."

"Thank you," she said warmly, forgiving his lack of knowledge.

"But then again, you're always fashionable," said Remus.

"Fashion is over-rated," Minerva declared.

"Style, then," said Remus. "I meant to say you're always stylish. But then, I always had a thing for girls in tartan."

Minerva smirked at him. "Have you now?"

Remus glanced at the stack of papers upon her desk waiting to be graded. "You're not being too harsh on the students, I hope?" he asked.

"I'm only being fair," she stated.

"You didn't give them any tricky questions, did you? Like those 'A and B,' 'A and C,' 'B and C,' 'None of the above' questions?"

"Are you trying to pester me?" she asked.

"Yes. Is it working?"

"No," she said calmly. "It takes a lot more than that to get on my nerves."

"Then wait a minute; I'll think of something," Remus assured her. He leaned back in his chair and squeezed his eyes shut, presumably trying to come up with a new way to tease her.

* * *

Harry and Ron were squished together beneath the Invisibility Cloak, trying not to make a sound as they shuffled along the old, wooden flooring that was prone to squeaking.

"Ouch! Ron, you stepped on my foot again," whispered Harry, who was ahead of Ron.

"I can't help it if you've got big feet," said Ron.

"Me? You're the one with the clown feet, falling all over me," said Harry.

"You know, this isn't as easy as it sounds," noted Ron. "An invisibility cloak seems like a nifty idea, sure, but when you try to put it into practice... I mean, they really need to invent an invisible bodysuit."

"Are you on about that again?" cried Harry. He looked down at his feet and saw his toes peeping out from the cloak with every step he took. "Why don't you just go and invent it yourself?"

"I will," said Ron.

Satisfied with Ron's promise to make him an Invisible Bodysuit one day, Harry Potter stopped talking, and the boys continued on in silence.

They penetrated deeper into the castle. It was unusually dark and empty with all the students away on holiday. After many twists and turns, Ron and Harry had almost arrived at their destination. They had only to go down one more flight of stairs, and they would be at McGonagall's study.

But they were too late; Hermione came striding down the hall toward them, and they realized their chance had slipped away. She mounted the stairs, oblivious to their invisible presence, as they pressed themselves tightly against the wall to avoid touching her.

Hermione loudly blew her nose as she passed them, and so she didn't notice the boys' heavy breathing.

'That was a close one,' thought Ron.

Harry let out a sigh as she reached the top of the stairs. Then, as if in a silent accord, he and Ron turned around and followed her.

She led them straight back to Gryffindor Tower. Standing in front of the painting of the Fat Lady, Hermione uttered the latest password: "Greasy, grimy, gopher guts." The Fat Lady opened the passage door, bestowing a friendly smile upon Hermione, and the girl stepped inside.

Harry and Ron were close behind Hermione. They attempted to sneak in after her, but the Fat Lady slammed the door shut.

"There'll be none of that shenanigans, thank you very much," said the Fat Lady crossly, giving them a disapproving glare.

Harry scoffed. "But we know the password! It's 'greasy, grimy, gopher guts!'"

"I don't care," she snipped. "It's the principle of the thing. When are you boys going to learn that you shouldn't go around spying on people?"

"We wouldn't have to spy on her if she'd just tell us what's going on," said Ron in their defense.

The Fat Lady went on, "Not only is it impolite, it's stalking. No girl appreciates a stalker. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish my cinnamon coffee in peace and quiet. Good day, gentlemen."

The boys tore off the Invisibility Cloak in frustration and tossed it on the ground.

"There's something weird going on," said Harry.

"This is Hogwarts," said Ron. "There's always something weird going on."

"But this is different!" Harry insisted. "We've always been able to solve things before, but now it's like everyone knows what's going on except for us."

"Like we're the only ones in the dark?" paraphrased Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry. "You know, we ought to be able to figure it out. After all, we did solve the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone."

"And Tom Riddle's diary," added Ron. "And we saved Ginny's life!"

"And we found out that Sirius was innocent, and that Peter Pettigrew was to blame instead," continued Harry.

"And we saved Buckbeak!" exclaimed Ron, remembering Hagrid's former pet Hippogriff.

"And I traveled back in time to save my own life, as well as everyone else's, with the Patronus Charm that Professor Lupin taught me," added Harry.

"Also, you've escaped from the Dark Lord too many times to count," said Ron.

"Yes, that is true," said Harry. He pressed his ear against the common room door.

"Do you hear anything?" asked Ron.

"Just a lot of giggling," replied Harry.

"Damn it! They're having a lesbian orgy, and we're missing it," said Ron.

Harry quickly pried his ear away from the door. "Ron! Your sister is in there!"

"Oh!" Ron came out of his daydream with a start. "Sorry. I must've forgot about that. I take back the lesbian orgy thing I said. It's–ewww, that's just wrong."

Harry went back to eavesdropping. "I think they're braiding each other's hair," he whispered.

"What are they saying?" inquired Ron.

Harry said, "I can't tell. Oh, wait!" He paused. "Hermione is telling Elizabeth that she likes her drawing."

"A drawing?"

"She drew a sketch of Ginny," explained Harry.

"Who did?" asked Ron.

"Elizabeth," said Harry.

"Wow, Ginny's finally making new friends," said Ron. His sister Ginny was famous for her shyness.

"Ron!" Harry said angrily. "You made me miss what they were saying."

"Sorry."

"Oh, great. Now I can't hear anything," said Harry, leaning his body ever closer to the passage door.

Suddenly, Harry was forced backward as if blown over by a strong wind, and he landed hard on his bottom. "Ow!"

The door had swung open, and Hermione was the first to exit. Seeing Harry sprawled out on the floor, she exclaimed in an outpouring of concern, "Harry, are you all right?" The other two girls gathered around and offered him looks of sympathy.

"What happened?" asked Ginny, kneeling down beside her longtime crush Harry.

Ron thought fast. "We were just about to say the password, and then the door shot open and smashed Harry in the face!"

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!" Hermione apologized. She automatically bent down to comfort him and cradled his head in her hands. His hair was so soft and black it reminded her of raven feathers.

"I'm all right," said Harry, putting on his brave face.

"Oh, I had no idea you were on the other side," Hermione said. She examined his head. "Oh, good. I don't see any bruising."

Just briefly, Ron was struck by her vague resemblance to Madam Pomfrey.

"Will he be all right?" asked Elizabeth.

"Oh, sure," said Ron confidently. "He's been through much worse. This is like a paper cut to him. No, less than a paper cut. It's like a microscopic paper cut."

"Oh, Harry," said Ginny breathlessly. "You will be okay, won't you? You didn't break your tail bone, did you?"

Harry spluttered, "No, I don't think so!"

"I'll help you up," said Ginny, placing her hand in his.

Hermione grabbed his other hand, and together they pulled him to his feet.

* * *

Remus and Minerva approached the entrance to the Great Hall walking arm in arm. Remus gently broke away and went before her.

"After you, Lady Minerva." He pushed against the heavy oak door.

"Thank you, Sir Remus, my valiant knight," said Minerva, striding gracefully into the hall as he held the door open for her.

Dumbledore smiled at Minerva as she settled in her chair beside him, and he turned her glass of water into a Manhattan cocktail.

Remus picked up his glass and frowned at Dumbledore. "Where's mine?"

Dumbledore scrunched up his eyebrows and murmured an incantation. Immediately, Remus Lupin's glass was filled with dry vermouth and gin. There was even a jalapeno olive at the bottom of his martini. "That's better," he said.

Minerva McGonagall looked across the table and saw that Snape's chair was empty. Her day was getting better and better! Severus Snape gave her seriously creepy vibes, mainly because she always got the feeling he was checking her out.

Lupin was also happy about Snape's absence. "Looks like someone finally got the hint," he murmured to McGonagall.

She giggled. Poor Snape! He was such an unpleasant man, and yet, she did feel sorry for him. 'But,' McGonagall reminded herself harshly, 'Severus Snape is a former Death Eater.' No matter what he made of his life now, the past would never change. At one point in time, Severus Snape had chosen to ally himself with Lord Voldemort. In McGonagall's eyes, that was unforgivable, and so, she could never let herself feel _too_ sorry for him. Plus, he exposed Remus Lupin's identity as a werewolf. That alone was reason enough to deny Snape any pity.

Dumbledore decided not to use sign language anymore, the novelty having worn off. 'But it was fun while it lasted,' he thought. Dumbledore rarely passed up an opportunity to indulge his whims. And his dreams. And he mustn't forget his fantasies. Oh, and that crazy balloon popping fetish... He couldn't deny himself that one...

Dumbledore lost his train of thought. Where was he? Ah, yes–the Great Hall. What a lovely place. Whose idea was it to enchant the ceiling into looking like the sky above? Pure genius!

Dumbledore arose, his snowy white beard reaching down to the tabletop. He smiled and said, "Good afternoon, all. We're having chicken cordon bleu for our first course, followed by a delightful Chinese vegetable dish. And for dessert, we will have tomato soup cake." The Headmaster sat down and clapped his hands, and the first course materialized upon their waiting platters.

Hermione nibbled her chicken distractedly, wondering where Draco was. 'Oh, dear. I hope he's not avoiding me,' she thought.

Ginny and Elizabeth were giggling with each other. Harry looked up sharply; there was an odd yearning in his chest. What were they talking about? And why did those two French braids make Ginny look so cute?

Ron muttered something to Harry. His mouth was full of bamboo shoots, and Harry only heard the name 'Snape.'

"What was that?" asked Harry.

"I _said_, I'm going to give him shampoo for Christmas, since he's obviously taken a liking to it," said Ron. "Who do you have for Secret Santa?"

Harry sighed. "Ginny."

Ron laughed. "Now she's really going to have a crush on you."

"Oh, well," said Harry resignedly. "I can't think of anything. Maybe I'll just copy Malfoy's idea and give her some chocolates."

"Are you kidding? She'll love you forever," said Ron.

"She already does," said Harry.

Ron cleaned his plate and prodded the tomato soup cake with his fork. "We'll have to put Operation Ferret on hold for now," he said glumly. This was the name they had assigned to the act of spying on Draco Malfoy, in honor of the time a former teacher had temporarily transfigured the poor Slytherin into a ferret.

"And why is that?" asked Harry.

"He's not here," muttered Ron. "Take a look around, will you?"

"Oh, yeah," said Harry. "Maybe he went home."

Ron scoffed. "Wouldn't that be too good to be true?"

* * *

The next few hours passed without much excitement. The boys spent a good chunk of time loitering in a hallway on the second floor. Marvin–the sixth year student–displayed his predilection for pyromania by teaching Harry, Ron, and Jessup how to set their socks on fire without burning themselves. This didn't destroy the clothing; it merely attacked lint fuzzies and sent an orange flame shooting along the surface of their socks. Then they spent the remainder of the afternoon setting fire to anything that was cheap and cotton. I really don't know why boys choose to amuse themselves in such strange ways, but they do. That's the truth, and I write the truth.

The dinner gong was struck at quarter to six, and the boys hurried down the stairs. As Harry trailed along, he looked out the window for signs of Malfoy. Where _was_ that Slytherin?

Then he saw something that made him stop in his tracks, causing Ron to nearly bump into him. "It's Malfoy! Look!" shouted Harry, pointing out the figure that dotted the snowy landscape.

"And Snape!" shouted Ron.

They were right: Far off on the grounds, Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy were marching across the field toward the castle.

Harry saw that Malfoy was carrying a large object, and he commented, "It looks like they're bringing something back with them."

"What? We need to see Dumbledore immediately!" exclaimed Ron.

"Over such a little thing?" said Harry.

"It might be a _big_ thing," insisted Ron. "We _are_ talking about Snape."

"You're right," said Harry. He finally pried his eyes away from the figures outside, and they reported to Dumbledore with the news.

* * *

Dumbledore was sitting at the head of the table calmly sipping his tea when his thoughts were interrupted by two noisy Gryffindors.

"It's Professor Snape!" cried Harry.

"In the courtyard!" yelled Ron.

"With a box!" said Harry.

Dumbledore murmured, "Professor Snape in the courtyard with a box. Hmmm... I may have missed something, for I have no idea what you're talking about."

"We saw him outside," announced Harry. "And Malfoy too. They were carrying a large crate."

"We don't know what's inside of it," said Ron, shaking his head in awe.

"Do you think it has to do with Lord Voldemort?" asked Harry.

After a suspenseful pause, Dumbledore laughed. "Oh, don't be silly. You can relax. That box has nothing to do with Voldemort. Professor Snape and Malfoy just went to Hogsmeade this afternoon to buy some Potions ingredients. I'm sure that's all you'd find in the box–simply ingredients for your Potions class."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling embarrassed.

Ron was still suspicious. He said, "But maybe we should check it out, just in case."

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "There's no need to go to those measures. I trust Professor Snape." 'After all,' thought the Headmaster, 'it's been a very long time since he's done anything worth getting sent to Azkaban for.'

Dumbledore sent the boys off with a wave of his hands and took another sip of tea. Oh, drat. It was cold now. Where were those house-elves when you needed them?

* * *

Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy made it inside the castle without encountering any impediments along the way, and they were now trying to find a cage for the Runespoor in the potion teacher's office. "It should still be in here," Professor Snape murmured as he advanced toward a musty smelling closet.

He opened the door and used the _wingardium leviosa_ incantation to bring out a bulky, glass aquarium. Draco raised his eyebrows. "Someone's going to notice that, professor," he said.

"I'll need to put more hexes on my lock then, won't I?" said Snape.

Draco nodded as Snape floated the aquarium onto the large table which he had cleared off earlier.

Avril could be heard hissing from her cramped compartment. "Don't worry," Snape crooned to her. "We'll have you a nice new home very soon, darling."

Draco bit his tongue. "Should I run down to Sprout's garden and get some dirt?" he offered.

"I was just going to tell you to do that. Here's a bag. Take all the dirt that can fit–er, that you can carry."

Draco narrowed his eyebrows, resenting the insinuation behind his professor's remark. So he wasn't as bulky as some of the other boys his age, but he was wiry, damn it. He was very strong for his size. And he could certainly carry a forty pound bag of dirt!

Snape went on, "Also, bring back some plants and insects. We want Avril to feel at home. She came all the way from Burkina Faso."

Draco nodded and slipped away to Sprout's garden, sincerely doubting that he would find any plants or insects native to Burkina Faso there.

* * *

Dumbledore began the evening's feast without Snape and Malfoy. 'They'll be here any second,' thought the Headmaster, nervously smoothing out his beard.

...to be continued


	8. Conversations with Snakes

_the eighth installment of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

_is brought to you by:_

_the fine booksellers of Flourish and Blotts_

* * *

Draco lumbered back to the dungeon with two satchels slung over his shoulders. Professor Snape was seated at the table, Avril playfully slithering around his neck. Draco let the bags drop to the floor.

"What took you so long?" asked Snape.

"I ran into Peeves."

"When is Dumbledore going to get rid of that poltergeist?" Snape muttered. He stood up and gestured toward the empty aquarium. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get to work. We're already late for dinner; they'll be wondering what's taking us so long."

Draco climbed on top of the table and, with a huff, heaved up the large bag of soil. 'This is menial labor! Unfit for someone of my bloodline,' Draco thought, beginning to feel seriously aggrieved.

While the tank was rapidly filling with dirt, Snape untied the sack containing the plants and took a quick peek inside. "I suppose these will do. Now, run along to dinner. Tell Dumbledore I'll be there in five minutes. I want to finish planting these for Avril." The serpent looked over his shoulder with curiosity as he twirled a dainty blue wildflower between his fingers.

Draco gave a nod and left the room. He stopped in a bathroom on the dungeon level and checked his reflection. Hands—slightly caked with dirt. Face—rosy from the cold winter air. Hair—windswept and all over the place. He dipped his hands under the faucet and started scrubbing. Then he smoothed his hair back and hoped it would stay that way. Honestly, how did girls manage it? Their hair was ten times as long as his! No wonder Moaning Myrtle was always miserable.

The mood was jovial in the Great Hall as Draco joined the meal. He was annoyed by this. 'They started eating without me!' he thought in dismay.

Dumbledore caught the boy's attention and motioned for him to come to his side.

"Yes, sir?" said Draco.

"Is Professor Snape joining us tonight?" inquired Dumbledore.

"Yes, he'll be up soon. He's just putting away his potions," Draco answered. In a hushed voice he added, "His system is very complicated, you know."

"Ah, yes. That it is," agreed Dumbledore. His blue eyes lingered upon the young Malfoy for a moment longer before asking, "Are you in need of a new coin purse, by any chance?"

Draco stared at him in confusion. "I don't have a coin purse." He didn't need to use cash; his family put everything on credit. It was one of the perks of being wealthy and powerful.

"What do you do, then? Shove everything in your pockets like a common boy? You're getting too old for that. Now, run along and eat supper before it gets cold."

McGonagall giggled, murmuring under her breath, "Could you be any more obvious about it, Albus?"

Draco walked the entire length of the dining table before finding a seat. There were no spots left near Hermione, and he resented this.

However, their eyes met as Draco passed her, and he flashed her a brief smile. Immediately, Hermione's heart quickened, and she felt lighter than air.

She began at once to speak elatedly to Ginny and Ron and Elizabeth and Harry. She made sure that her bubbly voice was loud enough to carry over their heads and into the beautiful ears of Draco Malfoy.

He wondered what on earth had got into Hermione, who was usually so reserved yet happy in her own intellectual way. She was much too young to be going senile like Dumbledore...

And then it suddenly occurred to him that Dumbledore might be his Secret Santa. 'Do you need a new coin purse, by any chance?' Oh, that silly old duffer! Draco should've known that Dumbledore wouldn't be nice to him without a good reason.

Snape made his appearance just as the second course was being served. His shoulder length black hair, which had been soft and attractive that morning, was back to its greasy self. It needed more care than Snape had time for.

He grunted "good evening" to Dumbledore and thrust a knife into his roasted duck without looking up at the rest of the staff. Lupin was sitting next to McGonagall again.

* * *

Snape and Malfoy returned to the Potions office after supper, for there were still many things left to cover.

"Honeywater to sweeten up the taste of wormwood. Rosemary to awaken the memory, and eyebright to enhance focus and reduce eye strain from long hours of reading," explained Snape as Draco read over the list of ingredients for the mental agility potion they would be preparing next term.

"And the peaberries?" inquired Draco.

"For the caffeine content. But the central ingredient that ties everything together is the Runespoor egg," declared Snape. "It is true that one can obtain preserved eggs from a certain vendor in Knockturn Alley, but their potency is greatly diminished, in my opinion."

Draco nodded, making a note in the margins. He wondered if all this work would count for extra points on his next exam.

"The Runespoor is truly unique among all creatures. Do you know how she lays her eggs? She expectorates them from her mouths. No other animal on Earth is known to do so, except for a species of frog from Australia, which has unfortunately gone extinct.

"Another interesting fact: most snakes lay eggs only when they are ready to hatch, but the Runespoor is similar to the chicken in that she lays eggs regardless of whether they've been fertilized or not. It should go without saying that the healthier the animal, the better suited its eggs will be for potion making. Which is why we must take very good care of her," said Snape, sweeping his gaze toward his new charge.

Avril was exploring her new territory, winding in and out of branches in graceful circles. She raised one of her heads and peered into Draco's face with her bright, golden eyes.

"She looks hungry," Snape noted with concern.

"We should feed her a mouse," said Draco.

"Excellent idea. They're over there."

"At the rate things are going, I'll learn more about Magical Creatures today than I did all last _year_ at Hagrid's hut," said Draco as he reached his hand into the mouse cage.

After many tries, he grasped one of their long skinny tails. Holding the mouse out at arm's length he dangled it over the edge of Avril's aquarium.

"Do get on with it, Malfoy," commanded Snape. The mouse curled away from the gigantic reptile and tried to climb up its own tail.

"You'd let me know if it had a yen for human flesh, wouldn't you?" said Draco.

"Just _try_ to be gentle, Malfoy," said Snape.

Draco suddenly dropped the mouse and yanked his hand away. Avril's right head ripped into the mouse's throat without a moment's hesitation.

"There, you see? That wasn't so bad," said Snape.

Draco asked, "Is this going to count for extra credit?"

Snape simply glared at him. "Do you want Slytherin to win the House Cup or _not_?"

"I want to win of course."

"Good. Now I will tell you more about this beast, not for extra credit, but to expand your general knowledge. Runespoors were once adored by Dark wizards. They kept them as pets. In fact, legend has it that Salazar Slytherin himself owned one.

"It's no accident that the Runespoor has three heads. Each serves a different function. Its left head is the critic; she evaluates everything that the right and middle heads do, and her fangs are extremely venomous."

'_Now_ he tells me,' thought Draco.

"Its middle head is the dreamer. This is why they often remain motionless for days at a time, sleeping like cats. Its right head is the planner. She decides all actions—where it goes, what it does. She likes to scheme. The left head, unfortunately, is very annoying at times, and Runespoors are known to be missing it quite often... The other heads band together to bite it off."

Draco turned his head and peered at Avril. "But why would they do that to themselves?" he asked. "It's like us cutting off a foot, or removing a part of our brains."

"It's no great loss. It doesn't kill them. Nobody likes a critic, anyway."

"How do we know what they're thinking?"

"From the records of Parselmouths. They conversed with them and gradually understood their peculiar habits." Snape gave the Runespoor a sidelong glance. "But you must be careful around them. They're clever beasts. They understand human language, though they cannot speak it. And they needn't be loyal to Parselmouths. If a Runespoor doesn't like an individual, it doesn't matter what House he's in or whether he speaks Parseltongue or not. The Runespoor will acquire an instant dislike to him, and there's nothing one can do about it. On top of all that, the creature is highly independent."

Snape broke off suddenly, his eyes fixed upon the opposite wall. He could sense something on the other side. And that presence was now moving toward the door.

"What is it, professor?" said Draco.

"It's nothing," muttered Snape and tried to shake off the feeling as paranoia. He hated it when that happened. All these vibes, they gave him the heebie-jeebies.

"The hour is growing late," he said abruptly. "Let us adjourn for the evening."

Draco eagerly gathered up his belongings and hastily made for the exit.

"No, Malfoy!" Snape cried out as Draco opened the door, but it was too late. He should have trusted his senses, for now there was no mistake about it–something else was in the room with them. He hurled himself toward the door with arms extended, but the unnatural presence continued to elude him and he caught nothing but air. Draco stepped back in alarm.

"Professor?" he said sharply. It seemed like everyone was going mental today.

Snape avoided his gaze. "It's nothing. Let's move along, Malfoy." And with that, they abandoned the office for the evening, Snape locking the door behind him.

The invisible entity had a name, or rather, two names–Harry and Ron. The boys had donned the Invisibility Cloak one last time in an attempt to discover the contents of Snape's mysterious box. They'd taken advantage of the one opportunity fate had afforded them–while Draco was holding the door wide open.

The boys congratulated themselves on their good luck and tossed aside the Invisibility Cloak.

"Do you think they'll come back?" Ron whispered.

"I don't know," whispered Harry. "But we won't stay too long. If we don't find it soon, we'll leave."

"Okay," whispered Ron, and then he heard something that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He listened carefully, heart pounding in his chest. "Harry, is it just me, or do you hear that hissing, too?"

"I hear it too," said Harry. "I think it's coming from over there. Three of them."

"Three what?" gulped Ron.

"Three snakes," Harry said softly. He turned on his wand light and looked around.

Ron gasped. "It's a mutated monster!" His heart fairly leapt out of his throat.

The Runespoor was curled up into a neat coil, resting upon a bed of dried grasses. Its glassy eyes were fixed upon them with an unwavering stare.

Ron took a step backward, stumbling over a watering can. "How many three-headed beasts are there in this world, for crying out loud?"

"Shhh. Calm down, or you'll scare it," Harry advised, remaining motionless.

The snake's left head began hissing almost inaudibly, "They're too ssstupid to be wizards. They called us a 'mutated monster.' If they are wizards, then they must not be Ssslytherin."

"For once, I agree with you," whispered the head on its right.

Harry addressed the snake in Parseltongue, "We're not here to hurt you, please understand. We just want to asssk a few questions."

"Is that so?" said the Left. "Boy, tell usss your name."

"Harry," replied the Gryffindor. "What's yours?"

"Diane," hissed the Right.

"Celeste," the Left replied.

The middle head raised itself groggily from a pile of leaves. "And I am Marie," she said lazily. "You've woken me from my nap. I was having a lovely dream, simply sssplendid—it was delightful." She closed her golden eyes and drifted back to sleep.

Harry asked, "Do you know Ssseverus Sssnape and Draco Malfoy?"

"Know them?" hissed Diane. "We hardly know them. We just met today."

"And it's a good thing that we met Sssssseverus," said Celeste. "If it weren't for him, we would never have returned to the home of our ancestor, Helena Wades-In-Water."

"Who was Helena Wades-In-Water?" inquired Harry. "Did she live here at Hogwartssss?"

"Of courssse!" Diane hissed. "Ssshe was the cherished companion of Sssalazar Ssslytherin."

A chill swept over Harry's skin, and he noticeably flinched. Salazar Slytherin—one of the four founders of Hogwarts, he was the hateful wizard who created the Chamber of Secrets!

Ron always felt uncomfortable when he overheard his friend talking to snakes. And who could blame him? The language was most unsettling, relying solely on sibilants which made it sound all the more shrill and inhuman. He nervously tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Um, Harry?" he squeaked out in a tiny voice. "I think we should be going now..."

"No, Ron. We've got to stay," pleaded Harry. "She just said that they're descended from the snake that belonged to Salazar Slytherin!"

Ron's eyes widened. "What?! That means the exact opposite of stay! We need to get the hell out of here!"

Harry restrained his friend. "It's fine! Everything is under control. We just need to know why Malfoy and Snape are hiding her," he whispered.

Much to Ron's dismay, Harry turned back to the Runespoor.

Diane cocked her head playfully. The light from Harry's wand reflected off of her orange and black scales, giving them a jeweled appearance. "What do you like to read?" she asked.

"P-pardon?" Harry stammered in Parseltongue. 'Wow,' he thought. 'I didn't even know that snakes had a word for "pardon." '

Diane bared her white fangs in what she meant as a smile. "Do you like to read?" she repeated.

"Yes, I suppose ssso. I like reading about Quidditch, mainly," said Harry. What was this crazy snake on about? One thing was for certain: as soon as Harry left, he was going to tell Dumbledore all about this.

Celeste was hissing, "Reading is very important, young boy. If you read more about our kind, you would discover that we reproduce asssexually. That is why we have three heads right now. We're in the processs of dividing."

"Really?" said Harry.

"Ccccertainly," hissed Diane. "Our ssspecies must be preserved and hidden from Muggles, or else they'll try to study us for their cloning experimentsss."

"And that is why Dumbledore is hiding usss here," concluded Celeste.

"Dumbledore already knows you're here?" said Harry.

"Yes, and he must keep us sssecret from all of you meddling studentsss," said Celeste.

"Oh," said Harry, feeling a bit disappointed. He always enjoyed unraveling mysteries, only to find out later that Dumbledore had suspected the truth all along.

"What is it saying?" demanded Ron.

Harry rolled his eyes in impatience. "I'll tell you later." He resumed his discussion with the Runespoor in Parseltongue. "So, why does Malfoy get to know about you? If we're all meddling ssstudents, then—"

Diane interrupted with a lash of her tongue, "Unlike some boys and girls we have seen, Malfoy is not the type who speaks before he thinks. Nor does he play sssilly pranks with invisibility cloaks."

Celeste nodded. "If he _did_ have such a fine cloak, he wouldn't parade it in front of the whole school. He would probably keep it hidden, for he's a quiet, sssensible boy from what we've seen of him."

"Quiet, my foot! He'd probably go around showing it off!" Harry yelled in English.

Ron jumped. "Harry, someone's going to hear us!"

"Oh, right." Harry suddenly remembered Snape and Malfoy and wondered if they would be returning any time soon. "Maybe we should leave now."

"Gee, you think?" said Ron.

Harry looked around desperately for their cloak, pointing his feeble wand light into the dark corners of Snape's office. He saw the shroud resting on top of a box, and he hastily tugged at a corner that was dangling in front of him.

The Runespoor let them depart with one final message, "Be warned, Harry, there is a curssse upon anyone who dares speak of usss!"

Harry rolled his eyes. This snake was beginning to sound like Professor Trelawney. Curses—what utter hogwash! She was just trying to scare them.

Ron spoke up, "Um, Harry, what did it—"

"I'll tell you later! Let's get out of here!"

Once safely back in Gryffindor territory, Ron dashed to his bed and pulled the covers up tight around him. "We _are_ going to tell Dumbledore about the three-headed snake thing, aren't we?"

"I don't know. According to what she said, Dumbledore already knows about her," said Harry uncertainly.

"Her? Who's her?" asked Ron.

"The snake. She told me her name is Diane Marie Celeste," said Harry. He took off his glasses and set them down on the nightstand.

"How can you be so calm at a time like this? And what kind of a name is Diane Marie Celeste? Is that the name Snape gave her? What a loon."

"I don't know. Wait, would Snape actually give each of her heads a different name?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Well, Hagrid had a three-headed dog, and he only had one name—Fluffy," stated Ron.

"Yeah, that's right," Harry recalled. "Anyway, Diane and Celeste were talking to me, and they said that they reproduce asexually. That's why the Muggles are out to get them, because they want to use them in cloning experiments."

Ron scoffed.

"No, really. And Dumbledore is keeping her hidden here."

"So what you're saying is, Snape isn't doing anything wrong?" asked Ron in disbelief.

"I'm afraid not," said Harry.

"But, what if it's trying to trick us?" asked Ron.

Harry thought about it. "It's just a snake; it's not clever enough to be deceitful."

"Well, if you say so," said Ron.

"I think, for now, it's better just to keep quiet about this," added Harry. "We don't want to get in trouble for breaking into Snape's office if he hasn't done anything wrong."

"Well, technically, we didn't 'break into' anything," said Ron.

"But we used the Invisibility Cloak," said Harry.

"Yeah. That is true," said Ron. "So, no snitching?"

"No snitching. At least, not for now," said Harry.

...to be continued


	9. Intermission

_The ninth installment of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

_is grudgingly presented by:_

_The Malfoy Family_

* * *

We now interrupt this programming with a visit to Malfoy Manor. Why? Because we can. We are the ubiquitous, omniscient forces at work behind this story. And since we are about to enter the home of a very important villain, the editors apologize ahead of time for any sadistic, capitalistic, or otherwise derogatory situation which may offend the reader.

Narcissa Malfoy was in the study attending to her correspondence. Her husband Lucius entered the room and lightly kissed the top of her head.

"Hello, darling," crooned Narcissa.

"Hello, my dear," said Lucius. "What are you writing?"

"A letter to Draco. I want him to come home," said Narcissa. "He must be so lonely over there, with none of his Slytherin friends. I think I'll tempt him with a batch of anise flavored biscuits, with glazing on the top."

"That sounds delicious. I want some," said Lucius. His wife was an excellent baker. She had a sweet tooth and enjoyed baking rich, sugary desserts—leaving all the regular cooking to the house-elves.

"Perhaps," murmured Narcissa, signing her name with a flourish.

"We're having a Death Eater meeting in the drawing room this evening," said Lucius. "It would've pleased me to have Draco with us."

"He always listens in. What difference does one meeting make?"

"We're currently planning our next recruitment strategy," said Lucius, trying to stress the importance of this measure.

Narcissa waved a hand. "You silly men, with your silly secret clubs. The problem with recruitment is that you keep everything male dominated. I know lots of girls who would love to become Death Eaters, but you won't allow them to."

"Like who?"

"Like me," said Narcissa.

Lucius told her for the umpteenth time, "Narcissa, I know you're very ambitious. But I don't think women should be allowed to become Death Eaters anymore. Just look at what happened to your poor sister Bellatrix. Do you want to end up like her, locked up in prison for the rest of your life? You help out in your own way, and you're much safer because of it."

Narcissa sighed. "I know. But what about unmarried women? You would have a larger pool of people to choose from if you allowed them to apply; you'd get the cream of the crop."

"Some women can't be trusted. You know how they like to gossip," said Lucius.

"You silly men," repeated Narcissa. "I bet you all just sit around and drink beer and complain about nonsense, and watch Quidditch matches on the Spell-Binder."

Lucius gave a start. Was she spying on them?

Narcissa continued, "I'm going to start a club, too. It's going to be an all-female club."

"Is that so?" said her husband.

Narcissa smiled. She said perkily, "Yes. I'll think of an _original_ name for it. None of this 'eating dead stuff' business. We could be the Singing Sirens. Or the Association of Secular Sisters."

"Um, darling? Don't yell at me, but that spells 'ass,'" Lucius informed her.

"Oh," Narcissa tossed her head, thinking up a new name. "Just add another 'S' to the beginning and make it SASS. The Secret Association of Secular Sisters. It has a nice ring to it," she said proudly.

"It has a lot of alliteration; I'll say that for it," said Lucius.

"I'm glad you like it." She grinned. "When I finally have my SASS club, we're going to do some major evil, you mark my words. Evil with a capital E."

Narcissa stood up and pushed her chair in. Her letter to Draco was finished, and she was about to mail it. Entwining her fingers with her husband's, Narcissa locked eyes with Lucius and played the part of the innocent lamb. She was quite good at this role by now, and Lucius had no objections. She then stood on the tips of her toes and gave him a soft kiss on the lips.

* * *

Snape had trouble falling asleep that night. He punched his pillow to fluff it up. He'd tried reading one of his well-worn mystery novels, but it had failed to make him sleepy. The dogeared copy of _What Mrs. McGillicuddy Saw_ was now lying on the dusty floor, and there was a blank space in his bookcase where the Agatha Christies were kept. The remaining novels seemed to be pining away for the missing volume that Snape had tossed so carelessly onto the ground. But that must be in his imagination, for books didn't see or feel. They simply existed for his literary pleasure.

Hmmm. He knew that he should get some sleep when crazy thoughts such as these kept entertaining him.

'Damn it,' he thought. He began talking to himself. "Stupid werewolf has to come back here and take away my woman. Okay, so she was never my woman. But she was single! Damn that Lupin!"

* * *

Remus Lupin awoke with a start. Minerva's arm was draped across his chest, and they were lying in bed. It was warm in her chambers, but not too warm. What had caused his sleep to be so rudely interrupted? Was it a dream? Remus tried to remember. No, he had no idea what he'd been dreaming just moments before, but he was sure it hadn't been anything nightmarish.

Minerva's low, gentle snoring was reassuring to him, and he let his body relax once more.

He was glad Minerva didn't think of him as an outsider. She seemed to forget that he was a werewolf. Most people in the wizarding world avoided him once they learned the truth. They were unsympathetic, afraid, and ignorant. He didn't fully understand this as a young boy; he only knew that he was being singled out. And he couldn't imagine much else that was more wretched for a child to endure.

Remus finally gave up trying to find a life in the magical world after he resigned from Hogwarts. It was too hard to blend in—especially after the anti-werewolf legislation that came about within the last couple years. He soon discovered that Muggles didn't care if he missed a couple days of work a month. Oh, sure, they were none too pleased about it, but at least they didn't suspect him of being a monster with sharp teeth and an insatiable appetite for human flesh.

But, perhaps he could work here at Hogwarts again... Remus' heart leapt at the prospect. If only—if only... He was content with his current job, but he longed to be back among his own kind and free to use his natural born talents. And he wanted to be with Minerva. Not just on the weekends or holidays, but every day. She was one of the few people he'd ever shared an instant rapport with. He didn't know if he would ever find that again.

And yet a part of him remained insecure around her, and perhaps always would. Minerva's first husband had been a cultured Frenchman, and compared to him Remus was merely a foolish boy, lacking in all sophistication. What could Minerva possibly see in him?

He chastised himself for this self-deprecating line of thought. It was just like him to spoil a good thing with overthinking. He took a pause to look upon Minerva as she lay beside him deep in slumber, and it calmed him. Such a lovely woman—a handsome woman even. And with a sharp wit to boot.

'I wonder what will happen,' he thought. Remus had developed a certain kind of optimism over the years. He bore whatever life gave him. He toughed it out because he knew from experience that good things always follow the bad, and he didn't want to miss any of those good things.

* * *

Minerva had a dream that night, a secret dream that she told no one about. It was of her husband Jules, now long gone from this world and hopefully at peace.

She was aware that Remus was with her, and they were in a room somewhere in a large house. It was an unfamiliar place, as in most of her dreams, yet filled with just a few vestiges of the waking world. At one point her husband Jules appeared upon the dreamscape. She tried to run away and hide, out of guilt, but Jules followed her. He reached out a hand and pulled her up from where she was cowering in a corner. He kissed her and told her not to be ashamed—not to hide from him because she was with another man. And so he held her while Remus looked on. Yet no one was jealous, and Jules faded away, as things do in dreams.

If Minerva were a religious or sentimental sort, she'd see the dream as a message from her late husband telling her to go on with life and follow her heart's desire. But Minerva had never been very religious. She did not know if there was such a thing as an afterlife, and she reasoned that it was impossible to know such things. Still, it was comforting, this idea of a message from beyond—even if it was only a creation of her own mind.

* * *

**INTERMISSON**

While the reader takes a break to get a bite to eat and use the lavatory (or toilet if you are British), an orchestra begins playing and we are transported to a radiant, tropical island. A male voice begins singing the lyrics from an old musical:

_"Carefully Taught"_

"You've got to be taught

To hate and fear,

You've got to be taught

From year to year,

It's got to be drummed

In your dear little ear

You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught to be afraid

Of people whose eyes are oddly made,

And people whose skin is a diff'rent shade,

You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught before it's too late,

Before you are six or seven or eight,

To hate all the people your relatives hate,

You've got to be carefully taught!"

-_South Pacific_, Rodgers and Hammerstein

The music fades away, and the setting sun slips beneath the waves far out on the horizon. As the clouds take on a warm reddish hue, we slowly return to our senses and realize that nobody bursts out into random song in real life, but it sure is fun in musicals. The reader finds his place in the manuscript and continues to read.

* * *

The next morning was quite beautiful. It was sunny, and the clouds were gone, and there was a freshness in the air that no one had felt in a long time.

Hermione was pondering her strange relationship with Draco Malfoy as she stood at the sink in the girls' bathroom.

'Are we really oil and water, as Professor McGonagall said?' Hermione thought to herself as she wiped away the layer of steam that covered the mirror.

'But maybe it _could_ work—just maybe... Oh, no, it wouldn't work at all. But what if it _could_?' Hermione stared at her reflection, trying to arrange her fluffy hair into an elegant frame for her face.

If only love were like Arithmancy, with a definite set of formulas and a definite answer. And a foolproof process for arriving at that answer. Yes. If only love could be more structured, and one could derive the correct set of actions from the square root of A and the logarithm of B!

'But that would take all the fun out of it,' thought the girl. 'If only _I_ could be less structured, and more like Ron and Harry! They don't seem to think about things too much. Just go with the flow of things—like a speck of foam upon the ocean. Maybe it could work...'

She quickly brushed her teeth and then began daydreaming about a future encounter with Draco, acting it out with subtle body language in front of the mirror.

"Hello, Draco," she said in her sultriest voice, with an instinctive lift of her eyebrow. 'Oh, wow! That looks good!' she thought.

"So, did you sleep well last night?" she asked her Imaginary Draco.

"How could I, with you keeping me up all night long, my little fireball?" she said in a deeper voice, glaring provocatively at her reflection.

Just then, the door to the bathroom opened, and someone else walked in.

"Oh, hi—Ginny!" exclaimed a startled Hermione. Ginny must think she's crazy now, smiling and talking to herself in front of a mirror!

"Good morning, Mionny," said Ginny, who had noticed absolutely nothing.

"It's such a beautiful day," said Hermione brightly, trying to sound as perky as could be. "I was just brushing my teeth."

Ginny said, "Oh," and headed straight for a stall. Hermione gathered her belongings and quickly made her exit.

She was now standing in the middle of the girls' dormitory. She tossed her grooming supplies onto the bed, rushed over to her wardrobe, and threw the doors open. Her critical eyes darted back and forth, examining the selection of clothes before her. What to wear, what to wear? It mattered more today than ever, since she now wanted to impress Draco. She must look fetching, but not as if she were _trying_ to look fetching. She must be natural. But not as if she were _trying_ to be natural. She must simply _be_.

After much consideration, Hermione finally picked out an outfit and got dressed.

She had a brief panic attack just then and wondered, 'Why in the world am I lusting after Draco Malfoy? His family alone is reason enough to stay away from him! His father is a bastard—no, that's not a bad enough word for him. He is a cruel, cold hearted monster. And his mother is just as bad, if not worse! And Draco is the direct result of their unchecked breeding!'

Then she remembered. Draco had apologized for everything he'd ever said or done to her. It had been a heartfelt apology, and Hermione had forgiven him. The simple act of forgiveness was not beyond Hermione. She did not carry grudges as _some_ people did—like badges of war. She was above all that. And she could not truly bring herself to judge anyone based upon the sins of their family. Draco was his own person, and as such he was able to make his own decisions independent of his mother and father, she told herself.

And the fact that she was lusting after Draco now—why, she deserved to let loose once in a while! She had focused all her energies on academia, helping the less fortunate, and resolving arguments between Ron and Harry. Why, it was time for _her_ desires to be gratified for a change!

And Hermione could think of nothing that could gratify them better than another encounter with Draco Malfoy. There was something deep inside of her that was awakened when he kissed her for the first time. She longed to experience that feeling again—that blessed peace of mind in which everything seemed all right. She must feel that again! She had never felt it with anybody else except for Draco, which was strange truth be told. Nevertheless, it had to mean something! Feelings did not arise in one's soul unless they had a purpose!

Hermione was hoping to make it all the way to the dining hall without running into Harry and Ron, but alas, she encountered the duo in the Gryffindor common room. It was almost as if they were waiting for her. Didn't they have anything else to do with their time?

Harry and Ron saluted her with an enthusiastic "Good morning."

"Hi, Ron. Hi, Harry," Hermione replied with a touch of annoyance.

"Are you still fraternizing with the enemy?" inquired Ron.

"What? What do you mean? Oh, you're talking about Draco," said Hermione.

"How did you guess?"

"Who else would you be talking about? And no, I'm not in love with him."

Harry said, "Well, that's good."

Ron asked, "Are you in _like_ with him?"

Hermione said, "As silly as that question is, I fear I will have to answer it for you. No, I am not in like with Draco Malfoy. He's a silly little boy. I've seen the error of my ways. No longer will I go for moonlit walks at night with him."

Ron started. "What? I can't believe you did that! You could've been killed!"

Hermione lifted her eyes heavenward. Her face took on a more angelic hue as she spoke, "But I wasn't killed. I was spared from that dreadful, dreadful fate. And now I shall spend the rest of my days warning other girls to stay away from dastardly men."

Harry said, "You don't have to be sarcastic."

"Oh, no. I'm not. I've just been reading too many novels. I pick up on the speech patterns after a while."

Ron and Harry nodded. It was true; after reading a new book, Hermione was known to use many new and multi-syllabic words. Oftentimes the boys would simply nod and smile instead of asking her what a word meant. It was easier that way.

* * *

Once everyone had gathered for the morning meal, Dumbledore announced that today they would have a special treat: lunch in the village of Hogsmeade at the Three Broomsticks Inn. First and second year students would be included in the fun as well. "This excursion will also afford you the chance to pick out that last minute Secret Santa gift," he advised. "You will be chaperoned by Deputy Headmistress McGonagall and Master Lupin."

McGonagall and Lupin looked up in surprise as their names were called out. 'There goes my peaceful afternoon,' McGonagall thought dismally.

As was the custom on Sunday mornings, breakfast was served buffet style in the Hogwarts dining hall. The foodstuffs were laid out on a long narrow table, and everybody lined up to fill their plates. There were buttery croissants and blueberry muffins, milk, pumpkin juice, tea and coffee, French toast, bacon, ham, and muffins with marmalade jam. There were also danishes, smoked salmon, cream cheese and bagels, and a box of Lucky Charms cereal.

One by one, the diners left the buffet table, their plates holding more than their stomachs could possibly contain, except perhaps for Hagrid. Hermione was still in line, and she was looking forward to one of those delicious cheese danishes—they were her favorite food on Sundays. She looked over Draco's shoulder to see how many were left.

Remaining on the platter were two lonely danishes, surrounded by the crumbs of those who had gone before them.

Hagrid snatched one up, and not a second later, Draco had the other in his palm.

"Oh, dear," murmured Hermione to Ginny. "All the cheese danishes are gone."

Ginny patted her on the back and said, "Oh, you poor thing."

"Here, Hermione. You can have mine," said Draco as he laid the pastry on her dish.

Hermione glanced up at him and blushed in surprise. "Thank you."

"No problem," said Draco with a shrug.

After the boy had left the buffet table, Ginny whispered to Hermione, "He likes you. I can tell, he really likes you."

Hermione smiled shyly.

Ginny said, "For a Malfoy to give up the last cheese danish—that's more than friendship, Hermione. You should ask him out."

Hermione exclaimed in a hushed whisper, "I couldn't possibly!"

Nodding her head, Ginny said matter-of-factly, "You're right. It's better just to play hard-to-get right now."

"Did you hear that, Ron?" whispered Harry, who had only caught a fraction of the girls' conversation. "Hermione's playing hard-to-get. That's what Ginny said."

"Is _that_ why she's been so distant lately?" Ron wondered aloud.

"Could be," whispered Harry.

"It _must_ be," replied Ron. "That's why she's been acting so strangely—she's ignoring me on purpose because she wants me to ask her out!"

* * *

Now completely stuffed, all eleven students were seated cross legged on the floor with their eyes closed and hands resting upon their knees. Remus Lupin told them this was Mook Sahang, or meditation. "It can also help you with your wizarding courses," he said. The fourth degree black belt and former Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher was sitting before the students in a mirror image of their monk-like pose.

McGonagall refused to be part of this 'Mook Sahang.' She stood quietly off to the side and tried not to laugh at the sight of a meditating Draco Malfoy.

Lupin instructed them, "Take long, deep breaths, and remember to keep your spine straight. Don't puff out your chest; breathe in from your abdomen. You should feel your diaphragm expanding with air. Focus on your breathing and clear your mind-"

Hermione raised her hand and said, "Um, Professor Lupin? How can we fill our diaphragm with air when it's below our lungs?"

Lupin sighed. "I don't know, but it works. Just trust me on this. Now close your eyes again and meditate. Your breathing should be deep and rhythmic."

The students did so, and the strange breathing made them feel lightheaded, yet calm at the same time. Even Hermione was more relaxed. Draco, on the other hand, didn't notice much of a difference, probably because of the larghe vedute serum he took that morning.

Afterwards came the stretching. Luckily, wizard's clothing is loose and flowing, and the students were able to move freely. That is to say, they would have been able to move freely if they had been more flexible. As it turned out, Ginny was the only one who could touch her fingers to her toes.

Lupin leapt to his feet and said, "Okay, everyone up!"

"Are we doing self-defence?" asked Marvin.

"We'll get to that," said Lupin. "But first, I'm going to cover all the basics, including the things that we don't tell our own students. For example, when they pay for their trial lessons and get their free uniforms, and after we've convinced them that they have such _marvelous_ potential, we get them to sign a one-year contract and _completely_ forget to tell them about the extra fees—like belt testing and sparring gear.

"But you don't have to worry about that. You go to Hogwarts. A fine academy. Although, I'm not too sure about your present Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. She could be replaced. Just my own opinion, you know." He gave a smirk, and then got back on course. "But before we start our lesson, we need to get our blood pumping and wake you people up. You all look like you just rolled out of bed."

And with that, Lupin made them do forty jumping jacks, twenty front rising kicks—ten on each side, twenty crescent kicks, and ten push-ups.

The students were exhausted after this warm up, so Lupin gave them permission to take a five-minute water break.

"Only five minutes?" Jessup lamented.

"Five minutes is very generous for a water break," Lupin said firmly, and Jessup hurried off to reserve his place in line at the water fountain.

And once again that day, the students found themselves waiting in a queue. They passed the time by gossiping.

Hermione said to Harry and Ron, "You know what? McGonagall looks happier lately."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I think it's because of Lupin."

"Yeah. Definitely Lupin," said Ron, his voice filled with meaning.

After a moment's confusion, it finally dawned on her what he meant. "Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly coming to a realization about the teachers' relationship. "Hey... wouldn't it be nice if there was a way for him to teach here again?"

"And have a decent Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor?" said Harry. "Not a bad idea…"

"And it would make McGonagall so happy," said Hermione.

"Not to mention Lupin," said Ron. "Poor bloke. He needs a woman."

"That's what I'm talking about. We've got to find a way for Lupin to come back next year—and teach!" said Hermione quietly so the professors wouldn't hear them. She was loud enough, however, to be overheard by Draco Malfoy. He continued listening with interest.

...to be continued


	10. Another Martial Arts Lesson

_we now bring you_

_the tenth installment of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

* * *

Draco was happy to see Hermione. He still didn't know why he liked her. He reckoned that love was just another of life's many mysteries which would never be solved.

But there _was_ still a part of him that despised Hermione's bossiness. Also, he couldn't quite shake off his prejudice toward Muggles. And who could blame him? Muggles were undignified and dirty—and quite a bit lower on the evolutionary ladder. This was a proven fact; there had been many studies conducted over the years to verify this claim. Okay, so a lot of those studies were funded by the Malfoy family, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

And even if it did mean something, there was plenty of other evidence to be found. Unlike Wizardkind, Muggles had an astonishing ability to forget their own history. It was as if they just couldn't be bothered to keep track of anything that happened more than a century ago. Just take the Greek scholar Eratosthenes, for instance. After he had generously taken the time to measure the circumference of Earth, the Muggles of Medieval Europe spent the next millennium persisting that the world was flat as a pancake.

'Yes,' Draco thought. 'Muggles are the stupidest creatures on earth. But Hermione is smarter than most, and she's pretty, despite what the other Slytherins say.'

The line had dwindled down, and Draco approached the fountain. The cold water running down his throat felt so much more gratifying after a hard workout. His body was alive now, invigorated, and free of stress. This was how he felt after a good Quidditch practice.

Draco wiped the sleeve of his shirt across his mouth and stepped away from the water fountain. He decided it would be a bad idea to tell the girls about the larghe vedute serum right now. They seemed friendly with him at the moment, and he didn't want to risk anything by telling the truth. He didn't know about Ginny, but he knew for sure that Hermione would kill him for giving her a potion without her knowledge—especially a potion that allowed her to befriend her mortal enemy.

Draco calmly stepped out of the dining hall and joined the others, giving Remus Lupin a respectful nod.

Ron and Harry stumbled back onto the veranda, Harry in slightly better shape than Ron because of his Quidditch training. Ron gasped, "I can't go on!"

"Yes, you can," said Harry.

"No, I can't," wheezed Ron, clutching a stitch in his side. He reached for his wand.

Lupin warned them, "And don't think about casting any endurance spells. This is going to be a purely non-magic lesson. If anybody uses a stamina charm, they will not be allowed to participate in Tae Kwon Do for the rest of the week."

McGonagall nodded and gave the students a stern look. Ron put his wand back immediately.

When all the students had returned, Lupin said to them, "I never realized how sedentary a wizard's life was. They should give you kids some physical education. That's what they have at those Muggle schools, anyway."

"What's physical education?" asked Jessup.

"You play sports, like football and rugby," answered Lupin.

"But they don't have Quidditch," said Harry. Quidditch was the only sport that Harry was any good at.

"No, no they don't," admitted Lupin. "They don't teach martial arts, either. It might be a good thing if they did, though. There's too much competition among student athletes these days. Tae Kwon Do does have some elements of competition, but the idea is not to beat your opponent, but to have respect for him or her and to constantly learn from each other. Once we enter the dojang, any differences that exist between us in the outside world disappear.

"Now that I've said all that, I'm going to show you some ways to fake out your opponent and take them down. I saw _this_ one at a major tournament a few years back; a friend of mine used it." Lupin got into a fighting stance, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

"You just pretend that you're about to throw a spinning kick, but instead of doing the kick, you turn about very quickly and come back to your original stance—" He demonstrated this, and then said, "This will draw your opponent in—they come in to attack, and then you throw a real spinning kick to the head when they're least expecting it." He then whipped around and aimed his foot at an imaginary target.

Hermione gasped. "You kick people in the head, Professor Lupin?"

"They're wearing helmets," he said, hoping that would make it sound better. "Although, at this particular tournament, his opponent was almost knocked out, and... that was the end of the round. But it was a legal kick, so he was not disqualified. So, yes, it can be violent... but no more violent than a lot of Quidditch matches."

Marvin asked enthusiastically, "Can you punch them in the face?"

"Um, no," said Lupin. "I mean, you can do that if someone is trying to mug you on the Underground, but in a tournament, that would earn you a deduction. Not a good thing."

Marvin was still intrigued by the idea of punching people. "So it's not like boxing?"

"No."

"That's no fun," the boy complained.

Lupin stated, "Tae Kwon Do is not about knocking people unconscious. At least, not in tournaments. Although, you could slip it in if the judge is looking the other way. You know, a well-placed upper cut to the jaw..."

And with that, Remus Lupin went up another notch in Draco's book.

"But you didn't hear me say that," said Lupin. He noticed that Draco Malfoy was looking at him with something resembling respect, and this worried him. "You all look well rested now. Let's do some kicking drills. Professor McGonagall, would you hold this target for them?" Lupin had selected a padded target in the shape of a racquetball paddle, and he held it out to her.

McGonagall eyed him warily. "And why must _I_ hold it?" she asked.

"Because you're my assistant, of course," replied Lupin.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the students. "What if they kick me?"

"Um, Madam Pomfrey's around here somewhere," said Lupin, craning his head in the direction he imagined the nurse's station was in.

"What?"

"I said, they're good. And... they're not going to kick you," said Lupin unconvincingly.

McGonagall scoffed. "If you think I'm going to do this, you better think again."

Lupin pleaded with her, "But Professor, you haven't done anything all morning. All you've done is stand there."

"And your point would be?"

"Here, just take it. Do I have to give you the Roman goddess of warfare speech again?" asked Lupin.

McGonagall declared, "I am not the goddess of war!" She hiked up her skirts and scampered away. With a glance back she saw that Lupin was following her. She yelped and ran faster.

Lupin chased after her. "Really!" he shouted. "It's not that big of a deal. You're such a wimp, Minny."

McGonagall said nothing. She was still fleeing from the fourth degree black belt, as he was still intent on leaving her to the mercy of eleven uncoordinated witches and wizards.

The first year Jessup nudged Harry and said, "Oh, look at them. They're so cute together."

Harry chortled. He repeated this to Ron, who immediately burst out laughing. Meanwhile, Lupin kept in pursuit of McGonagall, chasing her in circles around the veranda.

Jessup was so pleased with his successful joke that he decided to repeat it, to the teachers' great dismay.

"Oh, no," McGonagall laughed. She and Lupin abruptly stopped to catch their breath.

"You do! You make a good couple!" said Ginny.

"No! Don't say that," Lupin exclaimed.

"Is this part of the lesson?" Draco inquired, with a sly grin.

"No, no it isn't! Professor McGonagall is not cooperating," declared Lupin. "Cooperation is essential for martial arts, and yet, she refuses to listen to me."

McGonagall snatched the target out of his hands and transfigured it into a bouquet of flowers.

Lupin said, "McGonagall has no respect for her senior black belts, as you can plainly see. If she were not a professor, I would give her detention."

McGonagall smiled more broadly.

"I shall have to think of an alternate punishment then," said Lupin. He sniffed the flowers and said, "They're very nice, Professor McGonagall, but you are supposed to be my assistant, and all you're doing is distracting the students."

"It's holiday," explained McGonagall with a wave of her hand.

"I know." Lupin smiled. He turned to the students and said, "You all know I was joking, right? I'm not a stuffy old codger like Snape. I'm the fun professor. And it's Christmas Eve; I'm not giving anybody detention."

Lupin eventually got the lesson back on track by breaking a board and awing everyone into silence. Actually, it's fairly easy to break a board, but they didn't know that.

Curiosity had driven Hagrid to drop by and watch the Tae Kwon Doists. He peeked around the corner of the open door, and his great, big, bushy beard gave him away instantly.

"Hagrid! How are you doing?" Lupin greeted his old friend.

Hagrid beamed. "I'm good. An' you?"

"Couldn't be better," said Lupin. "Would you care to join us?"

"Oh, I don' think I could. I on'y stopped in ter see what yer doin'. I've never seen karate before," said Hagrid. "I'm on my way to put these signs around the lake." The signs read, 'DANGER—Angry Sea Squid.'

An idea suddenly came to Lupin. "Say, could I borrow one of those signs?" he asked.

"Sure, what for?" asked Hagrid.

"I'm going to break a board."

It was then that Rubeus Hagrid had a glorious daydream. He was a free-roaming karate master taming and befriending wild dragons, traversing the Japanese countryside with his fire-breathing companions and quelling evil karate villains. "Is there anythin' I can do?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes. You can hold this board for me. I would ask McGonagall, but I seriously doubt that she would be willing," said Lupin.

Hagrid needed no further encouragement. He followed Lupin's instructions and firmly clutched the top and bottom of the board.

Lupin stood back and brought his hand behind his ear. "This is called a knife hand strike," he said. "Someday you will be able to do this too, my young grasshoppers."

Lupin slowly brought his hand to the center of the board a few times, gauging the angle and power that was needed. Then with the edge of his palm he broke through the wood in one swift motion, dividing the board into two clean pieces. He placed his hands at his sides and bowed to Hagrid. "Kam Sahm Needa."

Ron whispered to Hermione, "What does Commsamnida mean again?"

"It means 'thank you,'" whispered Hermione.

Hagrid stayed to watch the rest of the lesson after the board breaking demonstration was over, and McGonagall was quite pleased to have company on the sidelines. Lupin taught the children two more self-defence techniques against single hand wrist grabs before dismissing them for the day.

Four students were momentarily detained. A tall, black figure suddenly loomed in the doorway, blocking the only means of egress for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Harry's nose was an inch away from the dark fabric of a wizard's robes; he looked up and saw a familiar crooked nose, two piercing gray eyes, and a smug smile. Oh, no. He knew that look.

McGonagall detected a sweet, cloying scent in the air. It was like flowers. She sniffed around, and her nose led her in the direction of Severus Snape. His hair smelled like flowers again, just like yesterday! It was all washed and groomed, and—and pettable!

Snape caught her looking at him, and she narrowed her eyes. Lupin inquired, "Yes, Severus? What do you want?"

"Potter needs to come with me immediately," Snape ordered. "The Headmaster seeks an audience with him."

"What is the matter this time?" asked McGonagall.

Snape answered promptly, "I suspect he was sneaking around in my office last night."

McGonagall turned to Harry. "Harry, is this true?" She would be highly surprised if he said anything other than 'no.'

Harry shifted. He looked back and forth from McGonagall to Snape to Lupin to Hagrid...

"Er, um. No," he denied.

Snape gave him a cold look and said, "Lying won't get you anywhere, Potter. Come along; the Headmaster is waiting."

Harry gulped and looked despondently at Hermione. She wore a confused expression.

The Potions master marched his newly acquired prisoner toward Dumbledore's office.

"Well, that was odd," remarked Lupin.

Hermione wouldn't let Harry's arrest put a stopper on their plans, though. She was still fully intent on getting Lupin's job back.

"So, I guess we'll be going now," she said, looking at Ron and Ginny.

"Right," Ginny said brightly, and the three Gryffindors filed through the double doors of the dining hall and headed for the laundry room. They had agreed during water break to hold their meeting in the laundry room, as they expected to have the most privacy there. Who would be washing their clothes on the day before Christmas?

* * *

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny had engaged the help of Elaine and Elizabeth in their project, and they were now all assembled in the cellar laundry room. They had been making small talk for fifteen minutes, and the role of note taker had been assigned to one of the girls, since Ron's handwriting was mere chicken scratch. Other than that, nothing much had been accomplished.

The unmistakable voice of Draco Malfoy sliced the air like a knife. "Well, what have we here? Three Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw, and even a Hufflepuff."

Ron asked, "What are _you_ doing here, Malfoy?"

"Nothing is complete without a Slytherin," answered Draco. He looked at Ron and said, "I changed my mind about Lupin. I think he _is_ the best man for the job—after Snape, that is. And that's why I'm here, to help him get his job back."

"Is that all?" Ron asked, his voice laden with suspicion. The rest of the students waited expectantly for Draco's reply.

"What do you mean, '_is that all_?'" said Draco, more than a little miffed. A year ago, he wouldn't have lifted a finger for Lupin, and now here he was trying to do something nice for the man, and they couldn't even show him the smallest amount of gratitude.

"That can't be your only motive," said Ron.

"I'm also hoping that McGonagall will lighten up our Transfiguration load," admitted Draco.

"What does that have anything to do with our plan?" demanded Elaine, the seventh year Ravenclaw.

Draco said to her, "A McGonagall getting laid on a regular basis is a lot nicer than a McGonagall giving us loads of homework on a regular basis."

Ginny noted, "He has a good point."

Elizabeth nodded.

Draco said, "I really do want to help. I think if we all sit down and put our heads together, we should be able to come up with something."

Hermione looked at him with admiration. Here was her man—taking initiative! How sexy.

The six students each pulled up a chair and gathered around the table. Hermione ran a hand through her fluffy brown hair, as she was wont to do when trying to concentrate on something. "So to start us off, does anyone have any ideas they'd like to share?"

Elaine got her quill at the ready; she took her role as note-taker very seriously.

Ron said, "This could be like SPEW, and we could make multi-colored pins for people to wear."

Hermione said, "I was thinking along the lines of something more effective this time."

Ron tried another idea. "Or we could hold a demonstration in the Front Foyer—for Dumbledore to see."

Ginny said, "And get Rita Skeeter to come, too. She could write about it in the Daily Prophet!"

"Interesting tactic," Hermione said tactfully. Somehow, she found it hard to believe that Rita Skeeter would help them after the girl had trapped the Animagus in a glass jar last year. But hey, it was worth a shot...

Elizabeth tried to brainstorm, but her mind was a blank. Why did it seem like everyone else could think of things at the drop of a hat? And then suddenly, she found inspiration. "I could draw the posters!" she said. "The banners and the posters for the demonstration. I'd make them really big, I promise."

Hermione smiled, feeling that the project was getting underway. "That's smashing. I'd love to see the whole foyer covered in them."

Ron was happy that Draco hadn't made any suggestions yet. Ha! He was ahead of the blonde by two points!

A loud noise erupted behind them. Elaine jumped, and her quill skidded across the paper in a jagged, blotchy line.

"What was that?" exclaimed Ginny.

Elaine stood up and took one look at the washers. She groaned, "Not again," and raced over to her laundry basin. She tapped the brim with her wand and raised the lid. Elizabeth rushed to her side to help her.

"What's the matter?" Draco inquired, to the girls' surprise.

"I don't know," said Elaine. "It won't do the spin cycle. I was never very good with that charm, and it doesn't help that a million people use this washer every day!"

"If you'll allow me, ladies," said Draco suavely as he withdrew his wand.

Elaine grimaced at him. "Oh, and what do you think you can do that I haven't already tried?"

"Watch, and maybe you'll learn something." He gently stirred his wand in the air in a counter-clockwise motion and recited, "_Lavatura metere d'accordo_." The familiar hum of the spin cycle resumed, and Draco smiled. "Also, if you want to keep your clothes from fading, I'll let you in on another secret. Fizzy Laundry Charming Flakes. They make everything fluffy soft, too. Here, feel my robes."

Draco leisurely extended an arm. Elizabeth looked at her friend Elaine and giggled. She gingerly touched the long, black sleeve of his cloak and declared, "They _are_ soft."

...to be continued


	11. Dumbledore Learns Something

_we bring you_

_the eleventh installment of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

_because, let's face it, you're probably addicted to reading this story_

* * *

Remus Lupin turned to Hagrid. "I want to thank you again for helping out," he said.

"Oh, it was nuthin," insisted Hagrid.

"These children these days, it's so hard to keep their attention," Remus said. "I don't know what's on their minds."

Minerva interjected, "Really? It wasn't that long ago that you were a pupil yourself, you ought to remember—"

"Well, of course I have some sort of idea—my lord, what is she doing?" Remus wondered aloud as he saw Madam Pomfrey running through the dining hall_._ The house-elves who were busily mopping the floor dropped their buckets and scurried away so as not to be seen.

"Minerva!" cried Madam Pomfrey as she burst in upon them, looking flushed and winded.

"What _is_ the matter this time?" inquired Minerva with a slight note of annoyance.

Poppy paused to catch her breath, and then she said, "The children—I tested their blood for drugs, and I found traces of opiate! Oh, dear. How could they have snuck it in? Where did they get it from? Those poor, poor children. How could anybody—"

"Did you say opiate?" Remus cried in disbelief.

"Yes! Draco Malfoy had the most of it," said Poppy.

"And Ginny?" inquired Minerva.

"She had some as well, but not as much as Draco and Hermione."

"We need to tell their parents," said Minerva.

"Oh, dear. I suppose we have to," said the nurse. "I hate that part of my job."

"If you don't mind, Poppy, could I have a look at the samples myself?" asked Minerva.

"Oh, of course. Right then, come along." Poppy turned to leave, expecting the Deputy Headmistress to follow straight away.

McGonagall gave her sweetheart a lingering glance. "I won't be long," she told him.

"I know you won't," he murmured.

She beamed at him, slowly backing away. Then she departed with Madam Pomfrey.

Hagrid took a step toward Remus. "Well, if it isn't one thing, it's another," he muttered.

Remus grunted. Hagrid interpreted this as a sign of agreement, which it was. "Now, see here. I bet it was Draco Malfoy who bought the drugs. Always those rich kids who buy the expensive stuff, they get the money from their parents."

"I never heard of any drug problems when I went to school here," said Remus.

Hagrid scratched his beard. "Come to think of it, neither did I."

"Are we losing our memories?"

"No, I don't think so," said Hagrid uncertainly.

"Maybe I'm just choosing to remember the good parts, like that saying goes with 'rose-colored glasses,'" suggested Remus.

"No. If there ever was a drug problem, I'd a remembered it," said Hagrid, more certain this time.

Remus Lupin nodded, stroking his chin. It was covered in soft fuzz—the beginnings of a beard. He was letting his sideburns grow out as well, for Minerva had said she liked the way they looked on him.

Hagrid suddenly remembered that he had unfinished work to do. He frowned and said, "Wish I could stay and chat an' have a drink with you, but the stables need cleaning out, an' they're not about to do it on their own. An' I've got to put up the rest of these signs, or else someone might get hurt."

Remus glanced up at the signs in Hagrid's hand. He wondered what had happened to make the sea squid so angry, but did not ask questions. "Well, it was good talking to you. I'm sure we'll see you at supper."

"Oh, for sure," said Hagrid.

"Take care," said Remus.

Still leaning out over the porch railing, Remus Lupin heaved a sigh. His lungs filled with the sweet, intoxicatingly fresh, country air. It was beautiful here at Hogwarts, nestled among the hills of the Scottish Highlands. He'd hardly had time to appreciate its natural beauty as a student, and even less as a professor, but the memory had somehow endured.

It was chilly at this time in December, but his heavy wool robes kept him warm. Strange how being at Hogwarts among the forest and Quidditch field and all the old familiar comforts could make him immediately feel at home again. Of course, Hogwarts seemed different to him in person than in his memory, but it was still beautiful. He hoped that it would stay this way forever—or at least for the next few millennia.

* * *

Up in the office of Hogwarts' notably eccentric Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore was scrutinizing the fifteen year-old boy who sat before him—none other than Harry Potter. The youth was trying to make himself comfortable in an over-sized, antique chair while being stared at by Severus Snape.

At the moment, Snape was presenting his evidence. "My office was broken into last night and clearly ransacked. I distinctly remember locking it up when I left at the end of the day, but this morning I found it unlocked. And my watering can was lying on the floor, knocked over by some clumsy student. There was water all over the floor."

Dumbledore put on a curious expression. "What, may I ask, do you do with a watering can?"

Snape glared back at him. "I water my plants."

"You have plants?"

"Yes. Does that surprise you?" growled Snape.

Dumbledore quickly shook his head. "No. Not at all. Harry, where were you last night?"

"I was asleep in my room. With Ron," replied Harry.

"Well, if that's all you have to say, Harry, then you may leave. Go have fun with your friends. Professor Snape, it appears that you were mistaken."

Harry murmured, "Thank you, sir," and began to rise out of the high-backed chair.

A nonchalant drawl broke the relieved atmosphere. "Sit down, Potter, or Ah'll break ya fingas," Snape threatened.

Harry collapsed into his seat and grasped the armrests with trembling hands. Such a strange threat! Professor Snape usually addressed them with, '(Insert Gryffindor name here), why did you let that cauldron boil over? Ten points from Gryffindor!'

Dumbledore noticed the frightened look on Harry's face and told him, "Oh, Harry. He doesn't really mean it."

"It's not that, sir," Harry said. "I was just surprised at Professor Snape's change of threat. Usually it's, 'Ten points from Gryffindor.'"

"Oh, I see," said Dumbledore.

"I don't know if I can get used to this one," Harry went on. "Four and a half years of listening to the same expressions; I—I just can't switch horses midstream. It's too late for that."

Snape suggested, "Well, how about this one? Ten points from Gryffindor, or Ah'll break ya fingas!"

Harry squirmed. "It's an improvement."

"Thank you," said Snape.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Professor Snape, why did you order Harry to sit down?"

"Because we have more to discuss," growled Snape. "I found _this_ on the floor of my office last night." He held out a tiny piece of silvery, luminescent fabric.

Dumbledore gently examined this piece of cloth. "This is part of an Invisibility Cloak," he declared. He looked at Harry; his eyes had lost their luster.

Harry was dumbfounded. How had this happened? Weren't magical things immune to rips and tears? Did Snape have an Invisibility Cloak as well? Or did Harry and Ron accidentally tear the one Harry owned? If so, how could it—

The shroud, last night it had been tossed upon—

"Do you have anything to say to the Headmaster, Mr. Potter?" inquired Snape.

Harry gulped. "Yes. I—I'm very sorry, but it had to be done," he began.

Last night, they must have tossed the cloak upon the mice cage! Those little vermin, they could chew through anything with their sharp teeth!

"_What_ had to be done?" asked Dumbledore.

"Well, I guess I had to tell you sometime or other," said Harry. "Professor Snape was hiding a dangerous, three-headed snake in that box he brought back from Hogsmeade yesterday."

Snape laughed.

"It's true!" Harry's eyes glared angrily. "He's keeping it in an aquarium in his office, on top of a picnic table! And he feeds it live mice!"

Dumbledore was now paying close attention. "What did this snake look like?"

"It was orange and black, and it had giant fangs!"

"The boy is delusional. I have no such creature," proclaimed Snape.

Dumbledore continued his inquiries. "Did the snake speak to you, Harry?"

"Yes!" cried the boy. "She told me a lot of things. She told me that she's descended from the snake that belonged to Salazar Slytherin! And she mentioned _you, _Professor Dumbledore! She said that you were hiding her from Muggles because they want to use her in cloning experiments!"

"Why would they want to do that?" asked Dumbledore, suddenly confused. Up until the last statement, Harry's description had made sense.

"Because this snake, it's dividing right now. It's asexual, and it—it divides an' stuff," Harry said.

"Really?" Dumbledore raised his dignified, white eyebrows. "Well, I have something to tell you, Mr. Potter. I was in Professor Snape's office this morning, and there was no aquarium, no snake, and no live mice."

"Oh?" Harry felt as if he'd been played a mean trick.

"Yes. Not only was his office lacking in dangerous beasts, the creature you described does not exist. There _are_ no asexual, dividing, orange and black snakes in the real world. And I also find it highly unlikely that a snake would keep a record of its family tree. Even more unlikely that it would be linked to Salazar Slytherin," said Dumbledore.

Snape was as pleased as Punch.

Dumbledore concluded, "It's much more likely that you invented this story as a way to get out of trouble, Mr. Potter. To distract me from the fact that you broke into Professor Snape's office. You will have detention for this."

Harry gasped.

Snape added, "And count yourself lucky that nothing was missing."

Dumbledore jotted something down on a piece of paper and handed it to Harry. "You will be serving detention with Dobby in the kitchen. You are to scrub the pots and pans until lunchtime."

"Yes, sir," murmured Harry. He arose and walked toward the door in a daze. This wasn't supposed to happen! And with Dobby, nonetheless! That annoying, non-matching, self-liberated house-elf. Of course, Dobby _meant_ well, and he was quite fun at times, but to spend a whole morning with him washing dishes! Snape would pay for this.

"What is getting into the children these days?" said Dumbledore, shaking his head in wonder.

"Merlin knows," Snape muttered sullenly.

"First Granger and Malfoy and Ginny Weasley in the Prefects' Bathroom, and now Harry Potter gallivanting all over the grounds," continued Dumbledore.

"If I may point out, sir, this is not the first time," Snape noted.

Dumbledore, as usual, paid no attention to the wizard's perpetual moroseness. "I would like to know the root of all this energy. In the absence of any external excitement, the students seem to be creating mayhem out of nothing... I would be very interested indeed."

"It is the sickness of adolescence," declared Snape.

"Ah, but whereas you see the goblet as half-empty, I see it as half-full," said Dumbledore. "Perhaps these shenanigans are the elixir of youth, and not its sickness. In the absence of the Dark Lord's reign of terror, we can realize what it is to rejoice. They have seen death; they have mourned the loss of Cedric Diggory, and now they are realizing how good it is to be alive. The joys of everyday life, once taken for granted—the frivolity, the for—"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Headmaster, you have forgotten your place, which is to discipline the students, not admire them."

"Tsk, tsk. You do admonish me so," Dumbledore said. "If you don't learn how to agree with me, you'll never get that Defence Against the Dark Arts position you desire."

"Oh, but—"

"Now, Severus. Don't deny it, we all know it's true," Dumbledore said firmly.

"I never said—"

"Your assignment this January is to learn how to ingratiate yourself with me. Get in my good graces by displaying tactfulness and sincerity," Dumbledore told him. "Too often your sarcasm turns people away, and your brutal honesty is merely repugnant. If you think yourself clever, why don't you prove it to me?"

"What more shall I do? What more do you demand from me?" Snape questioned angrily.

"Just as I expect you to make certain all of your students pass their Potions exams, I expect you to learn the delicate art of brown-nosing."

Snape made an abrupt sound that resembled a cough.

It was at this time that Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey arrived on the scene. Dumbledore let them in, not oblivious to the way Severus was staring at Minerva. 'Oh, no. This is not boding well for harmonious employee relations,' the Headmaster thought.

As the two witches entered, Dumbledore said brightly, "Ah, my lovely ladies. Rejoice today, for tomorrow you could be dead."

Minerva and Poppy hardly fluttered an eyelash; they were well used to his oddities by now.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, I—we have something to report," the nurse announced.

Albus Dumbledore raised a silencing hand. "If it has anything to do with three-headed creatures of demonic origin, I don't want to hear about it."

"No," said Minerva. "It's about health matters."

Poppy nodded.

Minerva prompted her, "I believe this is your terrain."

"Oh, yes. Well, you see, this all goes back to the Bathroom Incident," said Poppy, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks.

Dumbledore nodded, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Having tested the children for several other spells and charms, I decided this morning to analyze their blood samples using forensic methods," explained Poppy. "I checked the calibrators and controls thrice over, so everything is quite accurate. I then ran a few screenings, and one of them came out positive."

"Positive for what?" inquired Severus.

"Opiates," came the nurse's shocking reply.

Severus crooned innocently, "Albus, what was that you were saying about the Elixir of Youth?"

Albus Dumbledore pretended to ignore him.

Poppy boasted, "I utilized my new Immunoassay Kit that just arrived from Diagon Alley."

"So you're positive that all three of them were under the influence of opiates?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," said Poppy. "After the presumptive test, I used my Aer Grafocolorare Pondus Iris-Aspectus Modicus 2002 to evaluate the actual molecular structure of the drug. It proved to be a derivative of the Snapping Opium Poppy, which only grows in Northern Morocco and a tiny sliver of Turkey."

Dumbledore requested, "Could you repeat that name—what did you use? Some Air Grapho thingy majingy...?"

"The Aer Grafocolorare Pondus Iris-aspectus Modicus 2002," she promptly repeated.

"Er, what does that mean in English?"

"Gas Chromatograph-Mass Spectrometer," Poppy translated.

He looked no more enlightened than before.

"For short, we call it the GC/MS," said Poppy.

Dumbledore brightened. "Ah, GC/MS. Excellent."

Minerva suggested, "Albus, do you think it might be a good idea to begin random drug testing? I know it's a little extreme, but I don't think we ought to sit around here doing nothing."

"The difficulty with random drug testing it that, essentially, it is an invasion of privacy," said Dumbledore. "Also, it would have to be approved by the School Board of Trustees, and you know how long it takes them to agree on anything.

"I believe that we should simply put stricter controls on the property entering Hogwarts. Whatever they took had to have entered the school doors. I will have Professor Flitwick charm the doors into setting off a silent alarm whenever they sense these Muggle 'drugs.'"

"That's brilliant," cried Minerva.

Dumbledore turned to Severus. "Did you see that?" the Headmaster exclaimed jubilantly. "Did you hear the way she said that? Perfect timing and intonation! _That's_ what I mean when I ask you to brown-nose."

"Oh, _now_ I understand," proclaimed Severus with mock enthusiasm.

"That's it precisely!" Dumbledore beamed at him.

"Albus, what do we do with Hermione and Ginny and Draco?" asked Minerva.

"Well, we should—um—let them be for now," advised Dumbledore.

"What? Why—?" cried a perplexed Minerva.

Dumbledore assured them, "It's all for the best. Draco Malfoy is finally acting civilly among his peers. Gryffindor and Slytherin are at peace. It's moments like these that I treasure. Please—let me hold onto this."

"But, what about Hermione?" demanded Minerva. "Draco may be _using_ her! She's young and naïve."

"Malfoy is certainly not using Granger!" yelled Severus. "He's a Slytherin. He has pride."

Before Minerva could counter, Dumbledore exclaimed, _"I __said, please let me hold onto this!"_

Minerva glared at him, her eyes stone-cold. "This is serious, Albus. We're not talking about your old school days and your 'experimentation with the mind-expanding drugs.' We need to find out where the opiates came from."

Poppy and Severus both stared at her in amazement. People rarely spoke to the Headmaster in that fashion.

After catching his breath, Dumbledore admitted, "You're right, Minerva. Where would I be without you? We will contact their parents immediately—"

"No!" yelled Severus.

"Pardon?" said Dumbledore.

"I know where they got it from," declared Severus, "and it's all my doing. I taught Malfoy how to brew a potion as a make-up assignment. It had a trace of Snapping Opium Poppy in it, but it was mixed with whale blubber—which cancels out the addictive properties of opium."

The three listeners were puzzled. Why hadn't he spoken up before?

Dumbledore inquired, "What kind of potion is this?"

"Larghe Vedute Siero, Open Mindedness Serum," answered Severus. "A Level Eight Potion. It does no harm to the brain whatsoever. As I told Malfoy, if he feels compelled to take it, then the only thing he's addicted to is being open-minded."

"Well," the nurse exclaimed. "Wonders never cease!"

"I'm summoning Flitwick, regardless," said Dumbledore. "This all goes to show how susceptible we are to these Muggle substances. They could easily be hidden in a robe or a suitcase—brought in under our very noses!"

Minerva was still puzzling over something. "I still wonder," she said slowly and deliberately, "how Hermione and Ginny were administered the potion. Professor Snape, you say that you taught it only to Malfoy. You leave the rest to conjecture. Tell me, why would Hermione dabble with such a potent potion?"

The wizard set forth one of his prefabricated theories, "I can explain that, Minerva. Hermione Granger is very clever, and with such intelligence comes a deep thirst for knowledge. She must learn about everything she can. She soaks up stimuli like a sponge."

Minerva raised a single, slim eyebrow. Severus went on, "Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley both know what they're getting into. I can't believe you'd accuse my pupil of anything so dastardly. To insinuate that Draco Malfoy would force it upon them is low—very low, Professor McGonagall."

"It takes one to know one," she breathed.

Severus opened his mouth to tell her off, but he stopped himself short as the prospect of a promotion crossed his mind. Insulting the Deputy Headmistress wouldn't look very good on his resume, now, would it?

Dumbledore seemed to be coming to a conclusion—and sure enough, he was.

"You mustn't teach this potion to any more students, Severus," he said firmly. "It is a mind-altering potion and it carries a great deal of responsibility. It makes people change their attitudes toward social class, something that is usually so firmly established that it cannot be altered. Mixing with students outside of one's clique—it's unheard of! Without any kind of system for social ranking, there will be mass orgies every night. The students' sexual urges will be uninhibited."

"But I thought you approved of that," Severus remarked sarcastically.

"I approve of natural, healthy relationships between two people who respect each other. I do not approve of mass orgies and you know that, Severus. Now, bear with me," said Dumbledore. "You three are to keep quiet about this. Severus, tell Malfoy and the girls they are not to share their 'stash' with anyone else. Just tell them it's too dangerous to share with the school population at large."

"I shall," said Severus.

As he and the two witches made ready to leave, Professor Filius Flitwick entered. "What did you want, Albus?" he inquired.

"I need you to put a charm on the doors to keep out Muggle narcotics," said Dumbledore.

Filius Flitwick nearly fainted. "But—I don't think there's a spell for that, sir."

"What? There has to be," said Dumbledore.

"I don't even _know_ any narcotics..."

"Well, look into it."

"But I was going to charm the Christmas tree ornaments today!" cried Filius, looking heartbroken.

"Into doing what?" inquired Dumbledore.

"Singing four-part harmonies. I'm teaching them the entire score of _The Pajama Game_," explained Filius.

"If you can do that, then I'm sure you can teach the doors about narcotics," said Dumbledore soothingly. "Now, everyone get out of my office. You're making dear Fawkes claustrophobic."

They all looked up at the Phoenix, who was perched on a bookshelf and nibbling at the pages of an atlas.

As the foursome departed, Dumbledore muttered to his frazzled self, "What does _The Pajama Game_ have anything to do with Christmas?"

* * *

Professor Flitwick was still in the dark as to what had transpired in the office prior to his being summoned, so Madam Pomfrey filled him in on the details during their long walk back from Dumbledore's chambers.

At the end of her tale, Severus Snape proclaimed, "I'm sick of hearing about Granger and Malfoy. It reminds me of the time Lily Evans had that annoying crush on me."

Filius told him gently, as if breaking the news to some poor, deluded child, "Lily never had a crush on you, Severus."

"I beg to differ," Severus grunted.

Hesitantly, Filius remarked, "But I thought she only liked the guys who had bands."

After an expectant hush, he added, "And James, of course."

Severus asked him leadingly, "Then why was she always stealing my textbooks?"

Minerva cried, "What? I thought you were just forgetful and left them behind in the classroom. And Lily Evans... was a very conscientious girl. One might say _too_ conscientious."

"No!" yelled Severus. "She hid them on me, and then she'd pretend to find them and slip into Slytherin quarters just to see me."

Filius nearly tipped over from laughing.

"I'm serious," said Severus. "She was extremely annoying. How would you like to have an uninvited Slytherin invade the Gryffindor Common Room?"

Minerva said in disbelief, "Lily go into the Slytherin Common Room? Lily Evans? We are talking about the same Lily, right?"

"And sometimes," Severus added, "she would go into the boys' dormitories. It was an outrage, I tell you. I was taking a nap one day, and she jumped on my bed, no warning at all—"

Poppy cried delightedly, "Who would've guessed it?"

Minerva said, "I'm beginning to doubt the paternity of Harry Potter."

Severus shuddered. "No son of mine would be that inept at potion making."

"He's very good at Charms, though," said Filius, finally recovered from his laughter.

"Why didn't you like her?" asked Minerva, ignoring Filius' comment.

"I'll give you a parchment full of reasons why!" yelled Severus indignantly. "She was impossible to like. Perky, Gryffindor Muggleborn. Named after a flower. Putrid smelling flower, at that. Had that annoying laugh. Never knew when to shut up—"

"It's not very nice to speak ill of the dead, Severus," said Filius.

"Well, I'm not a nice person. And may she rest in peace. Even though she was always bothersome and trying to domesticate me," grumbled Severus.

Minerva murmured, "A domesticated Severus? Oh, my."

"You see? Even Minerva agrees; it's unthinkable," Severus declared.

He turned away from the group and strode off hurriedly. Minerva McGonagall watched him go. She wondered about that strange wizard and his new hairstyle, and his irritable demeanor. He never smiled, never at all. Just what unfortunate combination of factors had created Severus Snape? Would anyone ever know?

With a shake of her head, she resolved that she ought not to speculate about things that could never be solved. Then she took leave of her companions and returned to the Great Hall where she had left Remus, half expecting him to be vanished. But there was no need for worry. She found him waiting for her in the Staff Lounge.

...to be continued


	12. Interview with a Vampire

_we proudly present_

_the twelfth installment of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

_As always, no animals were harmed in the making of this chapter._

* * *

Remus arose from his seat as she entered, taking a few steps in her direction. "So, what about that opium scare?" he inquired.

"I am not at liberty to discuss that," Minerva told him quite firmly as she shut the door behind her.

"Never?"

"Only if administered veritaserum," she said. "Although, I should warn you, I have been researching various methods of resistance…"

"Why? What other secrets do you have, woman?" he cried in mock astonishment.

"As many as befits a woman of my age. And if you're lucky, I'll share a few with you," she answered.

He smiled, intrigued. "Fair enough."

His youthful charm was almost enough to make her spill any secret, and indeed it took her a great effort to resist the temptation to tell him about Madam Pomfrey's discovery.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Remus.

"I'm thinking that we have one more hour before we have to leave for Hogsmeade," said Minerva, taking a seat on one of the oversized couches. Remus slid in beside her.

"Who volunteered us for that, anyway?" he asked.

"Oh, Dumbledore. Who else?"

"Why do we have to be the ones to babysit all the time?" grumbled Remus. "How about Flitwick or Hagrid? Or Snape? In fact, what _has_ Snape been up to all this time, eh? I bet he's brewing up something in that dungeon of his…"

"I believe that's his job, being the Potions master," said Minerva.

"I bet it's a great cover for him," said Remus. "He could be making a deadly potion right in front of us, and we'd be none the wiser."

Minerva entertained the thought momentarily. She had to admit the potential was there. "But that's enough talk about Severus," she said. "I'd much rather discuss other topics, as long as I have you here."

With the end of vacation steadily approaching, a growing sense of urgency had overcome the two lovers. It crept into the timbre of their voices and invaded their gazes as they went about their days, in the struggle to keep time from rushing ahead too swiftly. Remus felt this compulsion all too strongly just then as he sat by Minerva's side.

"You're right, we ought to make the most of this time we have," he said.

Minerva said softly, "I wish you didn't have to leave."

"I truly wish I could stay," said Remus.

"I could hide you in my bedroom," she suggested, in partial jest.

"But then what would we do during the full moon?" Remus played along with her farfetched idea.

"I could transform into a cat and keep you company," she answered.

"I don't think that would be very wise."

"You're right; my cat form is rather small. You might view me as a tasty morsel."

"I'd rather you not see me like that–when I'm that way," said Remus.

"It's bound to happen sooner or later."

"No, I'm afraid you would not like what you see."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," she insisted.

"But not one that I am willing to take."

Minerva was forced to abandon the idea. "So, I cannot hide you in my bedroom. The logistics behind such a scheme are simply much too complicated," she stated with a note of resignation.

"Then we'll just have to make time to see each other as often as we can," said Remus.

"I'll have a whole week off at Easter. I could come visit you," suggested Minerva.

"I would like that," said Remus. "What day is Easter?"

She consulted her academic schedule. "April 7th this year."

Remus did some quick mental calculations. "Good, that's perfect. I will be well back into human shape by then."

"Oh!" Minerva winced, visibly angry with herself. "I'm sorry, I wasn't even thinking of that."

"It's all right, no worries." Remus put his arm around her congenially. "Don't forget, we'll have the whole summer too."

"That's right," said Minerva, who had the great luck of choosing a career that afforded her a whole three months of freedom every year. "We could go on a trip even..."

"We could go to Egypt, or Morocco, or Hawaii..."

"We really _should_ go on a trip," insisted Minerva.

"Where have you always wanted to go?" Remus asked her.

She let her mind venture into memories from her past. Destinations she had read about as a child appeared before her–magical places where she'd longed to go, but so much time had passed it seemed they were no longer real, but merely remnants of a dream.

"The Hölloch Caverns in Switzerland," said Minerva with a wistful look in her eye. "I've always wanted to go there."

"Then that's where we're going," stated Remus.

* * *

Harry glanced up at the clock for about the hundredth time that day. His arms were elbow-deep in soapy water, and his fingertips had long ago shriveled into prunes.

Every now and then Dobby would visit and help him with the dishes. Housework came naturally to house-elves, so Dobby could get a sinkful washed and dried in a fraction of the time it took Harry.

"Dobby is so happy to serve Harry Potter," sang the house-elf.

Harry gave him a half-hearted grin, for that was all he could muster at this point.

"You can't imagine how delighted Dobby is to see you sir," continued Dobby. He picked up a large kettle and swirled a towel all over its dripping surfaces so quickly that his hands became one big blur to Harry's eyes.

"The pleasure's all mine, Dobby. Believe me," said Harry as he began scrubbing yet another rectangular cake pan.

* * *

Dumbledore looked up from his crossword puzzle. His antique Muggle cuckoo clock was chiming the hour, and its two miniature doors had opened to reveal a little Dutch boy chasing a little Dutch girl in and out of the cuckoo clock.

Dumbledore shook his head and returned his gaze to the crossword puzzle. His most recent job applicant was already late. How annoying. It wouldn't do to have a tardy Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher.

The current Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher was proving to be unsatisfactory. Dumbledore strongly suspected her of employee theft. The missing silverware and precious jewels had not yet been recovered, and now his favorite Chocolate Frog Card had vanished as well. "Why can't I find an HONEST employee for once?" Dumbledore muttered to himself in exasperation. "Oh, with the exception of Remus Lupin, of course. He was straightforward with me. But for the love of Bob, why can't I find an honest son of a b-"

An unexpected noise made the Headmaster jump out of his seat.

"Ahem."

Dumbledore looked about, terribly flustered, for he could see neither hide nor hair of the being the voice belonged to.

Fawkes the Phoenix was pointing with his beak toward a spot in mid-air, where a furry, black creature was beating its wings.

"A bat?" murmured the Headmaster in dismay. "I thought Hagrid took care of that pest problem months ago!"

If the bat took offense at this, he did not show it. Instead, he metamorphosed into his much larger, wingless form and bowed before the Headmaster.

"Greetings, Headmaster Dumbledore," said the tall, slender man in front of the desk. "I have been waiting for a while now, but I suspect you have many important things dwelling upon your mind."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said.

The strange man leaned far over the Headmaster's desk and introduced himself, "I am Viscount Norman de Viona. I replied to your ad, remember?"

Dumbledore was overwhelmed by the viscount's mere presence, but he managed to squeak out a question, "You are an Animagus?"

Viscount Norman grinned, revealing his pointy canines. "Au contraire. I am a vampire. But have no fear for your dear little ones; I only drink the blood of French virgins. Preferably Veelas."

Dumbledore swallowed. "Could you perhaps refrain from leaning over my desk? There is a chair, behind you. Yes, very good."

Now that the viscount was seated, Dumbledore was able to breathe again. The scent of cologne, however, was not as amenable as its wearer; it lingered in the air for days afterward.

"Now then," said Dumbledore, pulling out a sheet of writing paper and a quill, "Who was your last employer?"

The viscount paused; he was thinking very hard. "I have had only one employer in my whole life. It was a summer job, on St. Maarten. During the day, I would serve drinks at a counter."

"You were a bartender?"

"Yes! Yes, that's the word," said Norman.

"Did you work on the French side or the Dutch side?" inquired Dumbledore.

"What does it matter?" said the viscount carelessly.

Dumbledore jotted down, 'Dutch side.' "May I contact your former employer?" he asked.

"Of course," said the viscount. "Her name was Sophie. Just send an owl to the Hungry Ear Cafe, and she'll tell you all about me."

"Do you have any experience with children?"

"Other than drinking their blood...?"

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Um...eh...do you have any experience _teaching_ children?"

The vampire leaned back and resumed his thinking stance. "You know what? I just might... Yes, I do! There was this one time in St. Maarten when I was teaching a group of children how to make blood flavored lollipops! What would that fall under? Cuisine? Culinary skills?"

Dumbledore tilted his head, apparently trying to accept this incident as a viable teaching experience. "Well, Fred and George Weasley are in that kind of business. I suppose it's not _bad_. Really, it's sort of amusing, what with the candy, and the entertainment factor that goes along with it. I used to be fond of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, and the blood flavored ones were not so bad, not really."

"I _love_ Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans," the viscount professed. "But you have to watch out for the vomit flavored ones. They look just like toffee."

Dumbledore smiled feebly. He wrote down on his paper, 'Mutual dislike of vomit-flavored jelly beans.'

He said to the viscount, "Tell me some of your hobbies."

"Well, I like riding. I breed horses, you know."

"How interesting. What else do you do with your free time?"

"I also practice the Dark Arts with my vampire coven. Tuesday nights at eight," said the viscount.

"Did you say you have a coven?" Dumbledore asked, hoping he had heard wrong.

"Oh, yes. It's a lark. But don't get the wrong impression about us; we are all very dedicated to the craft, and we take everything seriously. If you'd like to join us, I could put in a good word for you with our leader," offered the viscount.

"No, thank you. That won't be necessary," sighed Dumbledore. He looked the job applicant in the eye. The applicant looked back. There was a trace of red in his brown eyes that Dumbledore had not noticed before. Strange. Haunting, really.

Dumbledore had a few more questions to ask before totally giving up hope. "Why do you want to work here, Viscount Norman?"

"Oh, I don't know. Always like to try new things. I've heard a lot of famous people have been Defence Against the Dark Arts Professors here at Hogwarts: Gilderoy Lockhart, Bartemius Crouch Jr., that funny little man with the stutter who was possessed by Lord Voldemort... And I thought, 'Well, I want to be famous, too. Why don't I give it a shot?'"

Dumbledore shrugged and gave him a half-hearted smile.

Viscount Norman inquired, "Do we get overtime and paid holidays?"

"Do you understand that this is probably the most demanding task you have ever faced in your life?" asked Dumbledore.

"What? Teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts to a bunch of wizards? Piece of cake," said the viscount.

"These are not just wizards, Viscount Norman. These are adolescents. The most difficult kind. Full of unpredictable mood swings, and-and epileptic seizures," Dumbledore warned him.

"Well, it's a good thing I know the cure for epileptic seizures!" said the viscount with a look of triumph.

"I'm sure you do," said Dumbledore. "But there is more. Some of them have gone insane from the attacks on Hogwarts. They walk around in circles and mumble to themselves at the mere mention of Lord Voldemort. Some have even gone catatonic."

"That's horrible!" exclaimed the viscount, visibly distressed.

Dumbledore sadly shook his head. "There's nothing any of us can do about catatonia," he said. "I'm afraid this is the beginning of the end. Hogwarts will eventually shut down. No parents will want to send their children here. They would rather send them to Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, where less exciting things happen and nobody is ever in mortal peril."

The viscount did not look discouraged by this news. He said to Dumbledore, "But we must help the students who remain here. Mortal peril is all the more reason for us to work harder!"

"You don't understand! We're closing down next year. There will be no more Hogwarts, no more Defence Against the Dark Arts, and no more snogging in the Astronomy Tower!" yelled Dumbledore.

"Oh," said the vampire viscount. "Well, perhaps I could apply at Durmstrang?"

"That might be a good idea," said Dumbledore.

"Is Igor Karkaroff still in charge there?"

"No," said Dumbledore sharply. "He disappeared half a year ago."

"Oh, right. Of course," said the viscount. "Who's running it now?"

"I believe their new Headmaster is Mr. R—. He used to be their Dark Arts Teacher."

"Ah." The viscount nodded. He stood up and reached out his hand, which Dumbledore shook after an awkward hesitation. "Thank you very much. It's been a pleasure."

"Likewise," Dumbledore murmured, forcing a smile.

The viscount turned back into a bat and flew out the open window.

'So that's how he got in here,' thought Dumbledore, stroking his beard. 'It must be easier getting around that way. I should have become an Animagus. But then, I probably would've gotten some stupid animal like a porcupine.'

...to be continued


	13. A Visit to Hogsmeade

_we bring you_

_the thirteenth installment of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

* * *

After what seemed an age, lunchtime finally arrived. Harry's detention was at an end, and he was permitted to join the rest of the students for their trip to Hogsmeade. He grabbed his cloak and headed to the main foyer, where Professor McGonagall and Remus Lupin and most of the students had already assembled. After a few minutes the remaining stragglers showed up, having finished their laundry, and they were all on their way.

The path leading to Hogsmeade was covered in a layer of fresh snow, which sparkled brightly in the sun and made a satisfying crunching sound when stepped upon. As they neared the village, the familiar thatched roof cottages came into view, and they heard the lively commotion from the busy thoroughfare. Every year at Christmastime, Hogsmeade was transformed into a festival of lights. There was music in the air, and every shop featured a whimsical display in its front windows. Buildings were adorned with lights that would dance along with the music, their colors and patterns changing in unison with the rhythm. Lanterns dotted the trees overhead, and street vendors peddled hot chocolate, roasted chestnuts, and warm gingerbread biscuits fresh from the oven.

There was a sudden pang of longing in Draco's heart. He blinked, trying to recognize the ache inside his soul—a patch of emptiness that had never been filled. He had never been taught how, and there had never been any need to do so. But just now, seeing Hermione turn around and toss him a warm, friendly smile, Draco felt it was quite possible he could begin filling that void right now.

Very soon they had arrived at the Three Broomsticks Inn, and Professor McGonagall ushered the students inside, where they were quickly seated by the friendly proprietress Madam Rosmerta.

"What'll you have to drink, my dear?" Rosmerta asked Minerva when the group was settled.

"I'll have a glass of honey mead," the professor ordered in lieu of her usual gillywater.

"That sounds good, I'll have one too," said Remus.

"You've got it. Two glasses of honey mead, coming right up," said Rosmerta, her magical quill jotting down the orders in mid-air.

Remus looked down the table, and after counting their heads he said in mock dismay, "Oh no, we are thirteen in number, Minerva. You know what that means."

"It means we are a baker's dozen?"

"According to your dear friend Sibyll Trelawney, when thirteen in number sit down to dine, the first to rise will be the first to die," he continued to tease her.

"I'll be the brave soul who stands up first, how about that?" she said.

Just then, one of the second years arose to use the toilet, and so Minerva lost the opportunity to prove her valor.

While waiting for their food to arrive, Elizabeth and Ginny got to work thinking up new chants for the protest. Hermione and Elaine began recruiting the other students to their cause, and Ron caught Harry up on everything he missed during detention.

"We're going to stage a protest to get Lupin his job back," said Ron in between swigs of butterbeer. "We're gonna make banners and march around and boycott our classes!"

Harry shook his head. "But we don't even have any classes right now—"

Ron continued, ignoring Harry's comment, "Hermione is organizing everything, as usual. It's a lot of fun. Better than sitting around doing nothing. You gotta admit, it's been really boring around here."

"Well, I dunno. Tae kwon do is fun," said Harry.

"But that's only in the morning," Ron contested. "The rest of the day is sooo boring. Anyway, after this we're going back to the laundry room to paint the banners. Then we're going to find Dumbledore and yell things."

"Yell things? Like what?" asked Harry.

"You know!" Ron said crossly, because he couldn't remember any of the things they were planning to yell. "Cheers. Yeah, cheers and stuff."

Ginny had overheard their conversation and added, "Harry, I made one up myself. It goes like this, 'Remus Lupin, he's our man! If he can't do it, no one can!'"

Harry just shook his head slowly.

"Well? What do you think?" inquired Ginny.

"Um... That's already been done. Lots and lots of times," said Harry.

"Well, if you think you're so smart, why don't you come up with something?" said Ginny, crossing her arms.

"I will," Harry retorted.

The chatter paused for a moment as an owl swooped over the table and dropped a package directly in front of Draco Malfoy. The boy glared at the disruption with annoyance, gave the owl (whose name was Stu) a piece of chicken, and opened the attached envelope. He could tell by the stationery that it was from his mother; she always used the flowery paper. His father would use the ebony paper with the silver border on it.

He read the note from his mother, taking care to shield it from Hermione's field of view.

'_Dearest Draco,_

_We hope that you're enjoying your holiday. I'm sending you a package of anise-flavored biscuits. I just baked them this afternoon. Hope you liked the chocolate creams. I was going to send them to Aunt Bella because the food there is quite dreadful, but the Dementors keep confiscating everything. I think they may be eating the owls. Something has to be done about the squalid conditions inside that place._

_I'm forming a female branch of the Death Eaters called S.A.S.S. It stands for the Secret Association of Secular Sisters. Could you tell the Slytherin girls about it for me? Get them organized and teach them the basics. I'll take over soon. Thank you, darling. _

_Keep up with the Quidditch. Your father is free for the next match, and we're looking forward to seeing you play. We love you so much, Draco. If you want to come home, drop us an owl. We'll pick you right up. Hugs and kisses to my favorite Slytherin. We miss you so, darling. ~ Love, Mother_.'

Hermione peered over the top of the note. "Who is it from?" she asked.

"My mum," he said. "And no, you may not read it."

"May I have a biscuit?"

"Sure."

Hermione opened the container the owl had just delivered and helped herself to a biscuit. Draco tucked the note back in its envelope.

"So what did she say?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, you know," Draco said with a shrug. "Just the family business."

* * *

Remus couldn't help but overhear snippets of the students' conversation. His ears pricked up at Ginny's lively rendition of, "Remus Lupin, he's our man."

Remus leaned closer to Minerva and confided in a whisper, "I believe the students are hatching some scheme to keep me here at Hogwarts."

"It doesn't surprise me. You were their favorite, and their current teacher is an incompetent bore. She makes Sibyll look like a master of pedagogy." After a pause, she said, "Also, I think she's a kleptomaniac. She was puttering about in my classroom during exams, and now I can't find my snow globe. I was using it as a paperweight. It was right there on the desk, and then the next thing I knew it was gone."

"That is most unfortunate." Remus frowned.

"It's not even that valuable, but it's the principle of the thing. And it was a gift from my father. I bet she took it because she's against Muggles," she said bitterly. She had very fond memories of her Muggle father.

"That settles it, she has to go," declared Remus.

"If only it were that easy..."

"Nobody messes with my Minerva and gets away with it," said Remus. "She's got a lot to learn."

"And what do you plan to do?" asked Minerva.

Remus looked at her very seriously. "I am going to teach her a lesson."

"Oh, are you?" said Minerva with an amused expression.

"I am, you don't believe me?"

"Of course, of course," Minerva insisted.

* * *

When the plates had all been cleared, it was finally time to leave the cozy warmth of the Three Broomsticks. Minerva McGonagall paid the bill and herded the students out of the restaurant, reminding everyone to meet back in two hours. The children, needing no further encouragement, quickly dispersed. Remus and Minerva donned their cloaks once more and headed down High Street, stopping in at Rowena's Wine Cellar for a wine sampling. They stayed for some time and departed with a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and a wedge of brie.

Remus commented as they departed, "I thought you said you've never been here before."

"I haven't," said Minerva.

"Ah. I just thought it odd the way the proprietor seemed to recognize you. And he called you 'the spitting image of Rowena Ravenclaw.'"

"Oh, did he?" said Minerva. "That was nice of him."

"You know, I think he even—" Remus began to say.

"Where should we go next?" Minerva interrupted him.

Remus put his current line of questioning on hold for the moment. "Hmm. Well, I do believe we passed a Divination shop on the way here. You might find a present for Sibyll there."

Minerva sighed. "You just had to remind me, didn't you?"

"You don't want to be remiss in your duties, surely."

"You still haven't told me whose name you picked," she reminded him.

"They don't call the game Secret Santa for nothing," he stated.

"Oh come now, you surely don't expect me to run and tell anybody," she said. "I bet you got stuck with Severus."

"Ha! No, I did not as a matter of fact. Though I pity the poor soul who did."

Minerva laughed. "You two will always be at it, won't you?"

"I'm ready to call a truce whenever he's willing," said Remus.

"A pity that will never happen," said Minerva.

"Never is a very strong word. I still have hope."

"Do you? Do you really?"

Remus sighed. "No, not at all," he admitted.

* * *

After leaving the restaurant Draco decided to share with Hermione the contents of his mother's note. They were alone now and far away from the prying ears of their fellow classmates.

"My mum wants me to come home," said Draco. "She says they could pick me up any time."

"So," she said, trying to brace herself for the bad news which was sure to follow, "I suppose this means you'll be leaving soon."

Draco turned his head slightly, looking at her in amazement. "Hermione, I've never known you to jump to conclusions before."

It was Hermione's turn to look at him, and her shock was equally great.

"I'm not going home," said Draco. "I'm not going anywhere."

It seemed to Draco that his hand was magnetically drawn to Hermione's wrist. From there, he ran his fingers down to her hand and closed them over her palm, and Hermione let him. The whole experience of being near Draco and just getting to touch his hand was exhilarating to her. If she had to explain the feeling in words, the best comparison she could draw would be an endless line of dominos rapidly tumbling over one after the other, with no way of stopping them.

The last thing Draco wanted to do was break the atmosphere, but there had been a matter weighing on his mind for some time now, and he couldn't be silent any longer.

"What are we going to do in front of the others?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she asked sharply.

"You know, how are we going to hide... this?"

"I didn't think we were going to hide anything," said Hermione as she tore her hand away from his.

"I have a father who hates Muggle-borns, in case you haven't noticed. And Crabbe and Goyle, if they ever find out about us, they're so stupid they'll probably end up spilling everything, and then _their_ parents will find out, which brings us back to my father—"

"We'll be careful," insisted Hermione.

Draco said, "I know, Hermione. _You're_ careful. But other people, not so much. And well, there's...my standing to think about. I mean, I have a reputation to uphold."

"A reputation as what? The son of a Death Eater?"

"No, I just—my family expects a lot from me."

"I'm not dating anyone who's a Death Eater," she said flatly.

"I'm not a Death Eater—" Draco caught himself before adding the word 'yet.' "Nobody is initiated until the age of seventeen."

"Well, you're certainly not planning to become one, are you?" demanded Hermione.

He thought of offering her some lip balm. No, that probably wouldn't work.

Draco sighed. "No, I promise. I won't become a Death Eater."

Hermione did not look completely satisfied, but there was nothing more he could say to convince her. She would have to watch and wait, and judge from his actions whether he was in earnest.

"But just so you know, Muggles aren't all saints. Just look at history," said Draco. "Look at what those ignorant people tried to do to us—burning us at the stake, blaming us for every evil they create themselves."

"The world isn't like that anymore," denied Hermione.

"You want to bet?" said Draco. "With Muggle parents forbidding their children to read certain books just because they're about fantasy and magic?"

Hermione maintained, "They're a very small minority; you'll get your weirdos in every group."

"But your world is run by the weirdos!"

"So is yours! Whoever voted Fudge into office, that's what I'd like to know."

Draco started to laugh, but quickly checked himself. "Cornelius Fudge is… well, let's not bring Fudge into this."

Hermione told him, "Just promise me that you don't hate Muggles anymore. Because if you do, that means you hate me, along with my family."

"I promise that I don't hate Muggles anymore. It's now more of an intense dislike," said Draco. "And I promise that I do not hate you or your family. Far from it."

"Good."

"Now, shall we talk about something cheerful?"

"Yes, please," said Hermione.

"Like puppy dogs?" said Draco hopefully.

Hermione laughed, "Yes, like puppy dogs."

"What's your favorite kind of dog?"

"Terriers are cute."

"What about Alaskan huskies?"

"They're quite handsome," Hermione enthused.

"I own four of them," Draco boasted. "My parents go to Canada and watch the dog sled races every year. I normally go with them, but this year, a certain somebody had to make me miss the train."

Hermione scoffed and gave him a playful shove. Draco laughed.

"It's getting cold out here," said Hermione. "Come on, let's go to Tomes &amp; Scrolls, there's a new book on advanced transfigurations I really want to check out, and it's not in the library yet."

Draco agreed, and they continued onward to the bookstore.

* * *

Harry and Ron were at J. Pippin's Potions trying to find something for Snape. "He's a hard one to buy for," complained Ron.

The woman at the counter suggested some Cauldron Cleaner. Ron gladly jumped at the idea, since he'd been racking his brain for days now trying to think of a suitable gift. Surely there was no way to offend Professor Snape with a simple bottle of cauldron cleaning fluid.

They noticed Ginny and Elizabeth in a nearby aisle perusing the selection of scented bath oils. Harry thought to himself how good it was to see her coming out of her shell and making new friends.

From there, Harry and Ron went to Spintwitches to admire all the sporting gear, and then on to Honeydukes where Harry purchased a half pound of sweets for Ginny. The other three girls who stayed behind for the holidays were there as well, though the boys did not notice them at first because the store was so crowded. The seventh year Elaine sat alone in a corner, writing away in the little notebook she always carried with her while occasionally pausing to suck on the end of her quill. Sylvia and Chrystal were busy shoveling sugar skulls, marshmallow treats, and chocolate sponge candy into their bags as fast as they could.

Harry and Ron stayed at Honeydukes for the remainder of the Hogsmeade visit, being quite unable to tear themselves away from the vast assortment of goodies that surrounded them, most of which were probably not fit for human consumption and best to be avoided. The boys were particularly fond of the acid pops, which could burn a hole right through your tongue. Honeydukes had briefly come out with an alternate version called the alkaline pop, but it sold very poorly and was subsequently taken out of production since nobody actually enjoyed the sensation of having their mouth washed out with soap.

They were eventually joined by the other two boys, Marvin and Jessup, who immediately showed off the stash of firecrackers they'd just bought from Zonko's Joke Shop. A glimpse into the boys' satchel revealed whistling Roman candles, Exploding Hornet Hives, Fiery Fountains, and a handful of Psychedelic Sparklers. Marvin had taken the impressionable first year Jessup under his wing, and Harry and Ron were only too happy to help. The four of them agreed to meet later that night to shoot off firecrackers from the top of the Astronomy Tower.

Chrystal eyed the firecrackers greedily and was just about to try to worm her way into the boys' conversation when she felt a presence behind her and turned around to face Elaine.

"Do you want to hear a rumor about Hermione Granger?" Elaine asked.

"No, not really," said Chrystal, who was more interested in blowing things up than in listening to gossip.

"I heard she got in trouble the other day," Elaine continued with a wicked gleam in her eye.

Ron interrupted, "No, way. I would have heard about it."

"Well, I guess she doesn't tell you everything," said Elaine. After a pause, she added, "And Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy were with her."

Harry gave a start as Ginny's name was mentioned in conjunction with Malfoy's.

Ron narrowed his eyebrows. "What are you talking about?" he said angrily.

"It's probably nothing," said Elaine. "I heard it from that Hufflepuff girl. That the three of them got caught in the Prefects' Bathroom together."

"No!" Ron exclaimed.

"Oh, yes. The teachers tried to hush it up, but word gets out," Elaine said. "Anyway, that's about all I know."

Harry spoke up, "Did you say Ginny was there too?"

"Yes, she was. I'm not sure what they were up to... but I do know Elizabeth was pretty disappointed that she wasn't invited."

Harry continued to stare at her in silence, his stomach tied up in knots. What was the meaning of this? Ginny—dear Ginny! Here he was worried about Hermione, when all this time Ginny... How could he have not noticed something was wrong? And just what _was_ she doing in the Prefects' Bathroom with Malfoy and Hermione? The desire to know was maddening.

* * *

Hermione and Draco ran into Professor McGonagall and Remus Lupin outside the Divination shop. McGonagall was in possession of a small parcel, which Hermione noticed was covered in strange, occult symbols.

"Professor McGonagall," greeted Hermione, politely ignoring the strange item her professor was carrying. "I need to buy a gift for Madam Pomfrey. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Why, yes," McGonagall replied thoughtfully. "She loves knitting. There's a little arts and crafts shop down that way you might want to try out, it's just past Gladrags Wizardwear."

"Ok, thanks!" said Hermione. She and Draco took off in the direction of the clothing boutique.

"You don't think Draco is mistreating her, do you?" Minerva cautiously asked Remus.

"I haven't seen any evidence of it," said Remus slowly. "Although, I still think there is something you're not telling me."

"I am interested in your opinion as an outside observer."

Remus laughed. "You're really not going to tell me, are you? Well then, without any additional knowledge of the situation, I would have to say Draco is behaving himself. In fact, this is the longest span of time he's gone without abusing anybody."

"That's a good thing," said Minerva, sounding as though she were trying to convince herself.

"How is Ginny Weasley doing?" asked Remus.

"She appears to be well," said Minerva. "I saw her flying the other day, out in the courtyard. She's very good on a broomstick; I'll have to mention it to Rolanda. I have a feeling she'd be an excellent addition to the Gryffindor team."

"She does have a natural athleticism," said Remus. "I noticed it during the tae kwon do classes. She has very good form for a beginner."

"She also has a very good teacher," Minerva noted.

"Oh, well I suppose so. I never formally studied teaching methodology—"

"But you have a natural ability. It's almost like... intuition. People either have it, or they don't. It's a very hard skill to learn."

"Did you learn the hard way?" asked Remus.

"I did," said Minerva. "In fact, I was very envious of you, and still am if I'm to be perfectly honest."

"How so?"

"How naturally it comes to you. You seem to know exactly how to connect with the students. You make it look so easy."

"It is a lot of work," Remus acknowledged.

"You don't need to tell me that. I had a very difficult time in the beginning. I nearly gave up several times during my first few years of teaching. It was so bad, I almost went back to my old job at the Ministry of Magic."

"And what was it you did there?"

"I shuffled paperwork in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said Minerva.

"I can't picture you doing that," said Remus. "Are you sure you didn't patrol the streets with a billy club looking for dangerous criminals?"

"No, it was nothing so exciting as that! I just whiled away the days in the office. It was quite dull, you can't even imagine," said Minerva. "I can't even remember exactly what I did. A lot of paperwork for the Wizengamot. It was extremely monotonous and I eventually grew bored with it."

"So you came back to Hogwarts..."

"It has a way of luring one back."

"I have felt that too."

"Maybe you ought to give in to it once more."

"Perhaps I should," said Remus thoughtfully.

"It may be dangerous though," Minerva cautioned, as if trying to test his resolve. "You-Know-Who is lurking out there, somewhere, biding his time until he launches his next attack. And until then, we're just waiting here, unable to do anything but twiddle our thumbs, fearing the worst." She wrung her hands in a show of helplessness, giving a rare glimpse into a softer, more vulnerable side of her nature.

"You are not the only one who feels a duty to this school, Minerva," said Remus. The usual mirth that filled his eyes had disappeared, to be replaced by something dark and grim. It was the look of a man who had made up his mind to go to Hell and back, and Minerva returned his gaze with one that was equally determined.

"And what does your duty compel you to do?" she pressed him.

"I would do anything to protect these children. As you know, their current teacher is doing nothing to help them. She's doing the exact opposite, and I won't stand for it. These children need a real Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum, especially now, in the wake of everything that has happened. Since the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"If you give your word, you must keep it," said Minerva. "Do not throw words around as if they were meaningless and trivial things."

"I give you my word, Minerva," he declared. "I will ask Dumbledore to restore my post, and if he grants it, then by the gods I swear I will remain here and no power on Earth will move me."

"Then I will stand by you," Minerva vowed.

...to be continued


	14. Reprise

_we bring you_

_the fourteenth installment of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

* * *

The sky was beginning to darken as the Hogwarts assembly returned to the castle. The students retreated to the Art Room on the fifth floor, since it was pointed out by Elaine that the Laundry Room was a risky location because of its proximity to Professor Snape's office. The Art Room was a better choice anyway since it already contained all the necessary supplies, and Elizabeth was able to let everybody in with the key she'd obtained from Professor Burbage. She was in the middle of working on a special project and was granted permission to access the studio during holiday.

The students pushed the easels back to the perimeter of the classroom, and the floor was quickly covered in canvas and poster board. Various coloring tools were divvied up among the students. Elizabeth lent out paintbrushes to those who were averse to using Muggles markers. "It's not that I'm against Muggles or anything—like _some_ people—" Ron was overheard saying to Hermione whilst giving Draco a dirty look. "It's just that all the good colors are dried up."

Draco was looking about the studio. He had never been there before, and so he wandered around aimlessly not knowing what to do. He was hesitant to work on a sign for fear that his handwriting would be too recognizable and therefore give him away to Professor Snape. This was the excuse he presented to Hermione, which was met with a less than favorable reaction. He then pretended to busy himself by moving from one group to another and critiquing the others students' work, which was met with even less favor. After a sufficient amount of time had passed, he fled the Art Room under the pretext of using the bathroom and did not return.

The act of pretending to be busy is, in the end, more taxing than performing actual work. So it is no surprise that Draco felt drained of energy after his ordeal. He never did end up setting foot in the Art Room again.

Draco ran down to the dungeons, anxious to return to his comfort zone. He ended up crossing paths with Professor Snape in one of the damp corridors that led to the Slytherin Common Room.

"How was your trip, then?" asked Snape, not sounding particularly interested in the answer.

"It was all right," said Draco.

Snape said, "Dumbledore didn't believe Potter for once. It seems the boy is no longer able to pull the wool over his eyes."

Draco had no idea what Professor Snape was talking about, but it sounded like a good thing. "I thought you looked more cheerful today," he noted.

With a shock, the professor realized this was true. "I _am_ cheerful. Things like this _never_ happen to me. Perhaps next year, I will be able to convince Dumbledore to make me the Dark Arts Professor."

Draco corrected him, "Don't you mean, '_Defence_ Against the Dark Arts—'"

"I know what I said," growled Snape.

Draco felt a pang of guilt, although he did not recognize it as such because the concept was new to him. He could never let Professor Snape find out that he was conspiring to bring Lupin back to Hogwarts. Oh, great, now Harry and Ron could blackmail him if they were smart enough. Damn it! Being good never works out. He should have paid more attention to his father at those Death Eater meetings.

Draco took the vial of larghe vedute out of his pocket and rubbed the lotion on his hands. Snape glared at him. "Malfoy, how often do you use that?"

"What? Oh, just a couple times a day," Draco lied.

Snape was not satisfied. He narrowed his dark eyes and inquired further, "You're still besotted with Granger, aren't you?"

"Um…"

"I really don't know what you see in her," Snape muttered disparagingly before moving on. "But to each his own, I suppose. The important thing is to be happy."

"Yes, sir," said Draco, relieved at having avoided any straightforward confessions.

No one could tell that Snape was smiling on the inside, but he was. Dumbledore had given Harry Potter detention! Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles! Snape thought this day would never come. And he still had the House Cup to look forward to, he reminded himself as he headed back to his office to begin brewing his students' mental agility potion. Life was definitely beginning to look up.

* * *

Remus Lupin approached Dumbledore's office, a part of him still feeling like the young schoolboy who once looked up to the Headmaster with an awkward mixture of fear and reverence. He supposed that feeling would never quite go away.

Dumbledore beckoned him to enter, "Come in, come in." Lupin stepped inside. The office appeared to be in a disorganized state, with papers and other odds and ends strewn haphazardly about. Dumbledore himself was standing amidst a sea of clutter, rifling through a tall stack of parchments.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Lupin respectfully addressed him, "I have come to discuss with you the Defence Against the Dark Arts position."

"I expected you might," said Dumbledore, taking a momentary pause to glance at Lupin.

"I have given it much thought and consideration, not only these past few days, but ever since Minerva—Professor McGonagall—began writing to me of the troubles here. Of your experiences with those who… held the post after my resignation."

Dumbledore finally tore himself away from his search and sat down, motioning for Lupin to take a seat across from him. Lupin acquiesced and found himself feeling slightly more relaxed. He found his voice and continued, "I admit, I felt a bit disappointed to learn who your new teacher was this year. After all, she was responsible for all the laws that made it damn near impossible for me to find work. I was quite shocked you welcomed her to teach at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore looked tired. "'Welcomed' is a vast overstatement. I understand your anger, and I am deeply sorry for the hurt this has caused you. If there was any other way, I would have taken it. Unfortunately, we could not find anyone who would apply for the position, since it is reputedly cursed, and so the Ministry stepped in, forcing me to hire this wretched woman.

"I am so anxious to get rid of her, I considered hiring a vampire who drinks the blood of children and participates in the Dark Arts with his coven. I interviewed him right here in this room, this very morning. And I am prepared to say with one hundred percent certainty he would make a better teacher than this employee I'm currently stuck with. I am desperate, Remus. Absolutely desperate."

Lupin summoned his resolve. "I am willing to take up the post again, if you would consider me."

"That is very brave of you."

"I've found a clinic in Glasgow that treats people with my affliction. I can go there once a month and stay there for the duration of my illness, and that way I won't be a burden upon you or Severus, or a danger to anybody."

"The initiative you've taken is impressive," said Dumbledore.

"Thank you."

"Can you start next month?"

Remus Lupin simply stared at him, speechless at first. He began haltingly, "Well, I suppose I have no obligations—"

"Then consider yourself hired!" Dumbledore beamed at him. "I will gladly report to the Ministry that I have found myself a competent Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher."

"But what if the parents have a problem with a werewolf teaching here?" Lupin inquired anxiously.

"The parents will be so relieved that Professor Umbridge is gone, they won't ask any questions. And in case they do, we'll just tell them you're Remus Lupin's twin brother Romulus," said Dumbledore.

"That's not the worst idea I've ever heard," Lupin remarked.

* * *

Minerva was resting on a sofa in her personal quarters. She had just finished wrapping Professor Trelawney's Secret Santa present, a box of Tarot cards, and now she passed the time by rereading some old letters from a dear friend of hers.

The minutes ticked by, each one slower than the last. Minerva considered pouring herself a glass of wine, but no—that could wait until after she heard the good news, assuming all went well with Remus' interview. She reread the very last letter he'd sent her, and the words which had brought so much joy and excitement into her heart no longer seemed to satisfy when compared to the reality of being near him.

There was a slight breeze behind her; it ruffled the loose strands of hair on the nape of her neck. This tickled, so she brushed aside the offending hair—and felt another's hand close on top of hers. Remus leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"How did it go?" Minerva asked.

"He wants me to begin teaching in January," Remus announced. His eyes shone with a look of jubilation.

Minerva sprang to her feet and embraced him, all the tension at once melting away.

"Now," he said, sweeping his gaze to the wine bottle and two empty glasses on the table. "Why don't we celebrate?"

Minerva uncorked the bottle and poured out two servings. "Here is to a bright new future," she toasted, raising her glass to meet his.

"I'll drink to that," said Remus. He raised the glass to his lips and let the aroma of wine fill his nostrils before taking a much deserved sip. They reclined contentedly upon her sofa and snuggled against each other.

"Later on, maybe you could help me clean out her old office," Remus suggested.

Minerva scoffed. "Surely she can do that herself."

"Well, Albus decided it would be easier if we fired her while she was away on holiday. Less messy, you see. Just send her an owl. Or maybe a howler..."

"I see..."

"Apparently she can be very dramatic, and we'd like to avoid as much confrontation as possible."

"Knowing her, that's probably a wise idea," Minerva conceded.

The pair rested in comfortable silence, enjoying the calming effect the wine had on their nerves. Minerva reflected on the events of the past few days, remembering all the precious moments she and Remus had spent together. It was remarkable how easily he brought a smile to her face.

The corners of her mouth quivered, and she began to laugh. The memory of a certain recent event had sprung to mind, and it quite tickled her.

"What are _you_ giggling about?" inquired Remus.

"I was just thinking about what the kids said this morning—when you were chasing me around. Do you think they're going to start talking about us?"

"Does it matter?" asked Remus.

"Of course it matters! I'm their teacher. They have to take me seriously," said Minerva.

"You don't have to be single to be taken seriously," said Remus. "You were married once while you were teaching here. Did your students treat you differently back then?"

"But marriage is different," declared Minerva. "It's respectable, and traditional, and nobody thinks about two married people having sex together."

"Well, I should _hope_ the students don't think about their teachers like that," said Remus.

"But what if they do?" breathed Minerva.

"Then we refer them to a psychoanalyst," he replied.

"Remus, did _you_ ever think about me when you were in school?"

"Yes, I thought you gave us too much homework and your exams were tricky."

"Is that all?" she asked.

"Well, I thought you were pretty. And you still are," he added. "You're beautiful now."

Minerva was seen to blush slightly.

Remus continued, "Don't worry about what they think. I mean, as long as we're discreet and avoid any more close calls in the library, I don't see there being a problem. You're their professor. That's the way they see you, and it shouldn't matter if you have a... significant other."

"You mean a lover?" Minerva said.

Remus uttered, "Shhh!" He put a finger to his lips and looked around the room as if expecting to see the Chief of Magical Inquiry.

Minerva giggled at his silly joking, feeling herself loosen up again.

* * *

When the staff members entered the Great Hall for supper on Christmas Eve, they found it already occupied by a raucous group of students standing right smack in the middle of the room. Their individual faces were nearly lost in a sea of signs and banners which they proudly hoisted in the air.

"Students, dear students," Professor Dumbledore addressed the group. After reading a few of their signs, he quickly discerned the aim of their protest. "There is no need for all this ruckus," he said soothingly.

But the students would not be placated so easily. In fact, their amassed energy only seemed to be growing, and at an exponential rate.

Hermione led the call. "What do we want?" she shouted.

"An Outstanding Defence Against the Dark Arts Curriculum!" came the staggered response from the other nine students. Draco Malfoy was mysteriously absent.

"When do we want it?" Hermione shouted again.

"NOW!" the students yelled back in unison.

Ron shouted adamantly, "Bring Lupin back!"

Snape narrowed his eyes, seething with rage.

Dumbledore held up his hand. "Students, there is no need for this—" he pleaded, but to no effect. The students had begun chanting in earnest.

Snape interrupted, "I agree, Professor. This revolting display has gone too far. Everyone return to your common rooms this instant!"

"No, Snape. You do not understand," said Dumbledore. "It is unnecessary because I have already decided to rehire their beloved teacher."

The young protestors, alas, could not hear anything over the noise of their own voices, and the Headmaster's statement fell on deaf ears.

"EVERYONE, I WOULD LIKE TO ANNOUNCE WITHOUT FURTHER ADO," Dumbledore shouted, trying to make himself heard above the students' chanting, **"OUR NEW DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS PROFESSOR R. J. LUPIN, WHO WILL BEGIN TEACHING CLASSES IN JANUARY."**

And with that, Snape's face fell, and his spirits sank furthermore into the dank depths of his being.

The students were dumbstruck at first. Their commotion eventually came to a halt once everyone grasped what was happening. "What, just like that? Was it really that easy?" murmured Harry under his breath.

"A replacement mid-term?" the sixth-year Marvin whispered to a nearby student. "Wow, this last one couldn't even make it a whole year."

"Professor Lupin," Hermione called. "Is this true?"

"Yes, Hermione, I am glad to report it is," said Remus Lupin. He looked upon their hopeful young faces and felt a surge of confidence. "I'm very excited, as I hope all of you are as well. I missed you all very much. I missed Hogwarts. And now that I'm back, I will try to catch you up on everything that you should have been learning this whole time."

The staff members stood back and allowed the students to go first in welcoming back their old professor. Remus Lupin found himself giving out hugs left and right. Minerva McGonagall looked on, her heart swelling with tenderness. As for Madam Pomfrey, she could hardly contain her elation. "A good teacher like him is hard to come by," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. Minerva nodded, wiping away a tear from her eye.

The future to Remus at that moment in time was bright and full of possibilities. It was a feeling he'd never fully experienced before, and he held on to it fiercely, determined to never let go. The Universe was smiling on him for once in his life, and he was happy.

* * *

The mood at dinner that evening remained one of joyful merriment. Sibyll Trelawney must have felt it too, for even she made an appearance, joining the fray towards the end of the meal. "I foresaw that butterscotch bread pudding would be on the menu," she stated as she dove into the dessert in front of her.

Dumbledore tried to lighten the air with some friendly banter, but Madam Pomfrey interrupted him with a question to Trelawney.

"Oh Sibyll," she began, hoping to get the evening's forecast, "I almost forgot to ask you—what do you think the weather will be like tonight?"

"Just the same as last night, I expect," said Trelawney.

"I suppose so," said Pomfrey dolefully.

Snape whispered to the nurse, "It doesn't work if you ask her directly."

Dumbledore cleared his throat once more, this time determined to get a word in.

Remus Lupin asked, "Poppy, could you please pass the chicken?"

Pomfrey beamed at him. "Of course, dear."

Dumbledore finally gave up and did not say whatever it was that he was so keen on saying.

Remus helped himself to a succulent chicken breast and wolfed it down in a manner reminiscent of a ravening beast. If he were to read this story, he would object to the sentence in Chapter 11 which refers to his stubble as "soft fuzz." As I now recall, stubble is short and prickly, and terribly attractive. But it is nothing at all like soft fuzz. I find that I am appalled at myself for comparing Remus' chin to the outer covering of a peach.

Minerva McGonagall found a moment to slip away discretely while the others were busy chatting. She placed her newly wrapped present for Sibyll beneath the Christmas tree, stacking it nicely atop the small group of parcels already gathered there. It looked very modest and unassuming, with its tartan patterned wrapping paper and a simple string tied around it.

* * *

Hermione was peering thoughtfully through the windows of the Slytherin Dungeon, which looked out into the eerie depths of the Great Lake. She thought she saw a grindylow swim by, but it could have been a trick of the shadows.

Draco held out a book-shaped package. "I was busy wrapping it earlier, that's why I was late to supper," he explained. "I'm sorry I missed the protest."

Hermione pursed her lips, unable to hide her dissatisfaction.

"You can't seriously hold it against me." Draco tried to appeal to her reason, "Listen, Professor Snape can never know that I helped you out with the rally. He can never know that I lifted so much as a paintbrush. He's always wanted that job. I can't choose your side over his, not in this."

She sighed, mulling it over in her head.

"Hermione…" Draco implored.

"All right, I forgive you. Snape is your weird, Slytherin guru. I get it—well, not completely, but I'm trying."

"Thank you," said Draco. "Now, would you like to open your present?"

She unwrapped the package very carefully, feeling a tad guilty that she had nothing to give him. Draco watched her expectantly to gauge her reaction.

"Fundamentals of Conjuration: A Molecular Approach," she read the title with glee. "How did you get your hands on this? I thought it was all sold out."

Draco said, "While you were upstairs in the section on Myths and Folklore, I asked the clerk if they had any more copies behind the counter." 'A bit of palm greasing didn't hurt either,' he thought.

"Advanced formulae, conservation of mass, equations… this is brilliant! Oh, a whole chapter dedicated to fire conjuring! That could come in handy."

"I'm glad you like it," he told her, a broad smile spreading across his face.

* * *

For all outward appearances, the Gryffindor dormitories and common room were abandoned for the evening. At least, that is what the petite intruder thought when she slipped quietly onto the premises.

Ginny Weasley shut the door and advanced toward the mess in the common room. She started rummaging through odd bits of clutter scattered over the furniture, obviously looking for something.

Suddenly, there was a noise from the boys' dormitory overhead. Ginny jumped.

Harry was heading briskly down the stairs of Gryffindor Tower on his way to meet his companions for the pyrotechnics they had planned. He paused mid-step at the sight of Ginny, who had just entered the common room and was all by herself for once.

"Hullo, Ginny," he said.

"Hello, Harry," said the girl. "How's it going?"

"Good," the boy half-whispered. "An' you?"

"Fine," said Ginny, and she stared at him a bit longer than she intended to.

Quite to his surprise, Harry found that he enjoyed the way she was looking at him. And then he realized that he always enjoyed it when she gazed at him, or smiled at him, or paid him any kind of attention. He had always looked forward to seeing Ginny. She lit up like a firefly around him.

Harry hopped off of the bottom step and crossed the gap that lay between them. "You look different," he said, studying her face in bewilderment. "Did you get a haircut?"

"No," said Ginny, shaking her head.

"Oh, that's weird. You look different," he said again, as if he couldn't get over it.

Ginny looked up hopefully at him, and Harry's telltale eyes flickered over her visage. With that one look, Harry had betrayed his innermost feelings, but he found that her face held the exact same expression as his own. They were linked in that one moment of time reading each other's minds. They knew they were both thinking about the same thing.

Before they knew it, they were in a frenzied embrace, kissing each other as if their mouths depended on it for survival. And for the next few minutes, all Harry knew was the floor beneath his feet and his fingers running through Ginny's thick red hair and the passionate touch of her lips upon his face.

Ginny pushed him down onto the sofa and leapt on his lap, straddling his hips with her pretty little legs. He gave a start as he felt Ginny's wet tongue delving into the crannies of his ear. Dear God, he hadn't known what he was missing all this time!

Of course, there was no turning back at this point. Harry simply had to allow Ginny to have her way with him now. She tore off his glasses and smiled merrily as he slid his hands around her waist, giggling when he called her "you little vixen," "you little minx," and an assortment of other endearments. And just as Ginny had expected, Harry was a very good kisser. Ah...those shy, sensitive types. So innocent, so corruptible.

The make-out session was going along swimmingly—until Harry asked a question, that is.

"So, what were you doing with Hermione and Malfoy in the prefects' bathroom?" he asked.

"Use your imagination," said Ginny. She tried to kiss his lips again, but he turned away.

"No. I really want to know, Ginny," he insisted.

"No, you don't."

"Um, yes I do."

Ginny sighed. "We were making out."

"What?" Harry was inching away from her. "You kissed Malfoy?"

"Mm-hm," Ginny nodded cheerfully.

"I'm kissing the same lips that kissed Draco Malfoy?" Harry exclaimed.

"Oh, don't be like this, Harry. That was two whole _days_ ago," said Ginny.

"Two whole—my God, Ginny, that was only two days ago! Are you telling me that your first kiss was from Draco Malfoy? You poor thing!"

Ginny scoffed. "Of course not! You think Malfoy is the first boy I've ever kissed? What do you think Neville and I were doing after the Yule Ball?"

"Oh, dear God," Harry muttered and averted his eyes from Ginny. First, his puritanical view of Professor Lupin had been contaminated, not to mention his idea of Professor McGonagall, and now Ginny was transforming from an innocent schoolgirl into...someone with more experience than himself!

"With Neville? I can't believe it!" he said.

"Why? What's the matter with Neville?" Ginny exclaimed.

"He's—he's so _Neville_," Harry sputtered.

Ginny was becoming infuriated. "Well, I happen to like Neville very much. Maybe I should keep seeing him. After all, he is a very good kisser."

"I don't need to hear this..."

"After all the times we've made out, he really has improved. He's better than Malfoy, actually," Ginny went on.

"I'm as cool as a cucumber..."

Ginny suddenly leapt off of Harry. "You know," she said, "if you have a problem with Neville, then I don't think I want to kiss you anymore."

"But, Ginny!" Harry cried.

"No, I've had enough," Ginny stated matter-of-factly. "You know what? I've wanted you for three years—almost four—and you never once asked me out. Well, I got tired of waiting. Now I'm bored with you."

She flounced away to the door. Harry yelled, "Ginny, come back!"

She smiled and called over her shoulder, "Have a good night, Harry." Then she vanished through the portrait hole.

Harry slumped down on the couch. His hair was sticking up at odder angles than usual, and his face was pink and naked without his glasses. He shook his head muttering, "What a tease."

...to be continued


	15. Finale

_Thirteen years after the first chapter was originally published on FictionAlley,_

_we bring you the fifteenth_

_and final installment_

_of_

_**A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers**_

* * *

Around nine o'clock in the evening, after all the hubbub had died down, the teachers were passing the time in the Staff Lounge by placing bets on how long Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger would stay together.

"I wonder how long this affair of Hermione and Draco's will last," mused Dumbledore, puffing on his favorite pipe.

"Shall I get out the ol' book?" asked Filius Flitwick, whose hand was itching to scribble down some new wagers.

"Oh, we're betting now, are we?" squealed Pomfrey.

McGonagall said, "It's not going to last. I give it two more weeks."

Flitwick said, "That's a terrible thing to say."

"It's holiday. Anything can happen during holiday. Then they'll go back to school in January, and well, these things never last," McGonagall ended with a note of regret.

Flitwick said, "You have a point, Minerva, but I still say it's dreadful."

Pomfrey raised her hand. "Put me down for four weeks, if you please, Filius."

Hagrid spoke up. "Hermione's too good for that spoiled rotten mama's boy. I bet she dumps him after three weeks."

"I'm going to place my bet on four months," came a deep, purposeful voice. Everyone turned to look at Snape, who was lounging calmly in an armchair in the corner.

Lupin said, "Are you sure you want to bet on four months? That seems very optimistic."

"I never win at anything, so what's the difference?" replied Snape.

"All right," said Lupin, wondering why all Slytherins were mad as hatters. "Just so long as there's no insider trading going on," he added jokingly.

Dumbledore coughed. "I'd like to place my bet on four and a half months," he said.

Snape gave him a disgruntled look.

At this point the Divination professor Sibyll Trelawney made her appearance. All eyes were diverted to her petite yet striking figure as she stood silently in the frame of the door.

"Sibyll," greeted Pomfrey. "Would you like to place a bet too?"

"And what does the matter concern this time?" murmured Trelawney.

"How long we think Hermione and Draco are going to stay together," answered Pomfrey.

Trelawney paused in the middle of the room, placing a slender finger to her lips. "That wouldn't be fair, Poppy, for I already know the resolution to that story."

She stared at Snape long enough to make him uncomfortable. He found himself cowering as usual beneath Sibyll's gaze, though he knew not why. Was he the only one who felt this way? He looked over at McGonagall. She certainly never feared Trelawney; she thought the woman a hack. Why should Snape feel odd in the presence of a harmless fortune teller, when he never trembled once before his Dark Lord?

"I would like to thank you again for the Tarot cards, Minerva," said Trelawney, fixing her gaze upon the Transfiguration professor.

"You're welcome," said McGonagall primly. "Did you find the note I included?"

"Yes, I found it amusing," said Trelawney.

"How so?"

"You seem to think I have a preoccupation with death, Minerva. Otherwise you wouldn't take the time to request that I not use the cards to predict more demises for Harry."

Over in his corner, Severus Snape chuckled to himself. He wished he could have the privilege of fortune telling. He enjoyed scaring Potter; predicting death for him must be great fun.

McGonagall sighed. "I only warned you, Sibyll, because you do so on a regular basis."

Trelawney looked pointedly at Dumbledore. "I wouldn't have to if a certain somebody didn't place him in mortal danger year after year."

Dumbledore frowned. "What? Why is everyone looking at me?"

Trelawney ignored him and continued to defend herself. "Am I any worse than fake Mad Eye Moody incessantly telling the children, 'Constant Vigilance!' and showing them the Three Unforgivable Curses? I don't believe I'm as formidable as that. I don't give them nightmares about dark wizards lurking around every corner."

The Divination Professor paused, honestly surprised that she had everyone's full attention. "As long as Voldemort lives, we should be grateful for every moment we have," she stated, and before she could hear their reaction, she promptly stormed out of the staff room and didn't look back. She would not stay there and put up with their judging looks. That would be unbearable.

Snape arose hastily from his seat. Without any explanation, he crossed the room, yanked open the door, and walked out. The remaining staff members looked on with mild amusement.

Snape caught a glimpse of Professor Trelawney as she glided down the hall. He yelled, "You, there! Stop! Trelawney!" He rushed to catch up with her.

Trelawney paused and slowly turned her head.

Snape grabbed her by the arm rather gruffly. "You know something," he accused her. "I don't know how you know anything, but you must. There's no other explanation for it."

Trelawney simply looked up at him with her large, doe-like eyes. "Severus, you really must stop trying to control people with intimidation," she stated.

Snape loosened his grip slightly. "What else do you know?" he demanded. If she knew about the mental agility potion... what then? In his mind's eye, the image of the House Cup flickered precariously between the states of being and non-being. Panic stricken, he cried out, "I'll not have you going to Dumbledore and ruining my plans!"

Trelawney sighed. 'Right, as if Dumbledore would believe anything I said,' she thought to herself. "I don't have the foggiest inkling of your plans, Severus. And even if I did, I wouldn't dream of ruining them. The only thing I desire right now is a large canteen of that new 'green tea' with ginseng and honey. It's quite delicious; have you tried it yet?"

"No, I haven't," Snape admitted. He thought it sounded good, though.

Snapping out of his tea reverie, Snape continued the interrogation. "Don't try to change the subject, Trelawney. Why did you look at me when you mentioned Granger and Malfoy? What do you know?"

"I don't know anything. I'm just the Divination Professor," said Trelawney, and she jerked her arm out of Snape's clutches. "Besides, it's not very wise to go about collecting dangerous secrets."

She turned her back on him and resumed her journey to the kitchen. She must get more of that divine green tea…

"Why are you speaking normally now?" Snape inquired menacingly.

"I beg your pardon?" said Trelawney.

"I said, madam, why aren't you putting on your usual airs about omens and sickness, earthquake and thundershock, sudden death and betrayal?"

"You would make a fine prophet yourself, Severus," said Trelawney wryly, amused by his ranting. "I'm sorry; I just assumed you had no interest in that sort of thing. I didn't think you'd appreciate it if I put on a charade for you."

Snape asked her sharply, "So you're saying it _is_ all a charade? Your so-called predictions—they're all fake and you're merely in charge of a theater department?"

"That is not true," she stated. "I am an honest-to-goodness seer. My great-great-grandmother was Cassandra Trelawney. But to hell with you, to hell with all of you! Believe what you want to believe. I don't get paid for making predictions or teaching divination. Dumbledore only pays me to keep up appearances. He doesn't believe in my art, either. But he keeps me around, if only to provide the illusion of a force that nobody else can see, to keep everyone entertained. In the end, that's all they care about. They don't believe in divination; they're all skeptics. But there is one thing they believe in, and that's entertainment.

"So there's your answer, Severus. That's why I'm not putting on my 'usual airs.'" Trelawney shot him a fierce look.

"I'm sorry, madam. I never meant to accuse you of anything," apologized Snape.

Trelawney coughed. It was a harsh, deep rattling cough, and she suddenly seemed very fragile. "This terrible cold. I really must have some tea."

"Why don't I have a cup with you?" suggested Snape.

"So you can make a bad joke about your tea leaves?" remarked Trelawney acidly.

"I swear to you, that idea never crossed my mind," insisted Snape. "But I _am_ dying to try that ginseng and honey concoction."

Trelawney smiled faintly. He made it sound like an elaborate potion.

They spoke no more until they came to the kitchen. Snape watched as she boiled the water on a kettle over the stove and prepared the ingredients. He took a seat at a little table the house-elves used for lunch breaks.

Placing the hot cup of tea before him, she said, "It was my idea first. I knew what was going to happen before Draco Malfoy even knew what hit him. The poor dear, he must be very confused. After all, he was carefully taught: his parents saw to that."

Snape stared at her in confusion. She sat down next to him and raised her delicate tea cup to her lips. "Simply divine," she murmured after taking a sip. "Severus, why don't you try yours."

"_What_ exactly did you know was going to happen?" inquired Snape.

Trelawney raised her eyebrows and said, "Well, it's all very simple. These skirmishes between the students, they were beginning to vex me greatly. I'm sure you'll agree with me. They're quite distracting. Their energies were clouding my visions, so powerful and bitter were they. I had to do something about it. And then—" she paused dramatically, "I had a moment of insight as I was marking the days off on my calendar. It was then that I knew their rivalry would soon be challenged by a bizarre, new development—the sudden attraction between Hermione and Draco."

Snape nearly spit out his tea. "You sure know a lot for a woman who shuts herself up in a turret."

Trelawney went on, "I foresaw that Draco would become ill one morning, and so I wrote him an excuse from classes. Even at that time, I knew what would come to pass."

"I remember that excuse; it wasn't too long ago," said Snape. "He showed it to me, and I told him it was a load of codswallop."

Trelawney smiled. She'd imagined he would say something of the sort.

Snape continued, "Unfortunately I had no choice but to honor it and let him miss Potions that day. It was a signed excuse from a professor."

"Of course," said Trelawney, admiring her flawless handiwork. "And if I'm not mistaken, you had your class prepare a potion for the recollection of forgotten facts?"

"Yes, that is true. I was going to have Malfoy make up the lesson, but I had run out of erbsen juice. One can't make Erinnern Potion without it."

Trelawney was nodding her head. "Quite naturally. So you gave him a different potion to make–something that not many of the other students were likely to recognize. Not even Dumbledore would have suspected it."

"I object, madam. I did not do it on purpose! How was I to know that Malfoy would use it on girls to satisfy his adolescent cravings? That was all his idea, not mine!" proclaimed Snape.

"I beg your pardon; I didn't mean to implicate you in any way," said Trelawney. "Actually, it is I who am the guilty one, for I knew how Draco would employ it, and I did nothing to stop him. I allowed events to unfold along their pre-determined course. It's so beautiful to watch, you know. It's my favorite hobby."

"I noticed," muttered Snape.

"My second favorite hobby is reading Agatha Christie murder mysteries," she added.

Snape grunted. "You haven't proved anything. Do you realize that? You could be nothing more than a nosy little bugger of a woman, and everything could be attributed to coincidence."

"Oh, really? Do you know who you sound like?" asked Trelawney.

"Dare I ask?"

"Dumbledore."

"I do not sound like Dumbledore!" Snape threw his cup down on the table with a loud whack.

Trelawney said calmly, "It is hard for you to see the resemblance, I gather, but you did sound remarkably like him just now. When I warned him about Professor Quirrel four years ago, he said I ought to keep my nose out of other people's business, and that everything was sheer coincidence."

"I kept warning him about Quirrel, and he ignored me too," grumbled Snape.

"Headmasters will do many foolish things without the aid of psychic counseling," Trelawney noted.

"Hmph. You still haven't proven anything," said Snape with his usual tenacity.

"Believe what you will. It matters not," sighed Trelawney.

"Unless…" His tone was now suspicious. "Unless you stole the last of my erbsen juice. If I'd noticed it was low, I would have replenished it in time for Malfoy's lab."

Sibyll Trelawney remained silent and let the realization sink in.

Snape glared at her. "You wouldn't…"

"Or would I?" Trelawney walked over to the counter and refilled her mug. "Such a delightful beverage. All we need are some saffron cakes and clotted cream to go with it."

"So it was YOU!" Snape was utterly taken aback by this revelation. "Are you MAD? You broke into my cabinet, stole my ingredients, and wrote an excuse for Malfoy all because you wanted some peace and quiet for your Inner Eye?" exclaimed the Potions master. "But how did you know that I would teach him the Larghe Vedute potion instead?"

"Because I had foreseen it!" cried Trelawney in exasperation. "Have you understood a word of what I've been saying to you?"

"And I suppose you also knew that Granger would requite his affections?"

"Of course! And eventually, the rest of their friends will find out about their romance, and perhaps, with a little luck, a truce between Gryffindor and Slytherin will be reached."

Snape remarked, "It's more likely they'll kill each other."

"Oh, Severus. You're always so pessimistic," said Trelawney. "I'm sure they'll get used to it… In time…"

Snape did not bother prolonging the debate. It was too late at night, and he was growing tired. He brusquely changed the subject. "Have you read The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by any chance?"

"Oh, yes!" Trelawney's eyes lit up. "That's one of my favorites. It's very clever; I never saw the end coming."

"Neither did I," admitted Snape. "I wonder where Christie got her ideas from. All those murders, and they're all done so creatively. Each one is unique from the last."

"Some people are born with a gift," said Trelawney.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall's chambers were warm and inviting. A candle burned by the bedside, giving the room a warm glow, and the shades were drawn tight over the casement windows. Outside the wind was howling with a fury, but in bed beneath a down-filled quilt Minerva and Remus were lounging very comfortably.

"Did I ever tell you how happy I was when you wrote back to me?" asked Remus.

It happened to be Remus who sent the first letter, although it could have easily been Minerva. The two friends had promised to write each other after he left the school the year before last.

"Yes, you've told me every night for the past three days," said Minerva.

Remus laughed, "No, I mean it. Really. I was so afraid you wouldn't write me back, that maybe you were just being polite. The way people do when they say, 'oh, be sure to keep in touch' and the like."

Minerva looked into his kind eyes. "We're both very lucky I'm not like other people," she said.

Remus pulled her in closer, murmuring, "We are the luckiest people in the world." Minerva nuzzled her face against his, and he responded by lavishing her with kisses.

* * *

Meanwhile in another part of the castle, a pair of students had fallen asleep on a couch. They lay side by side, the girl's head resting on the boy's chest. Hermione had drifted off first while reading her new tome on conjuration, and Draco had fallen asleep shortly afterward. The latest copy of _The Practical Potioneer_ still lay open on his lap.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore awoke on Christmas morning to the sound of violent banging upon his door. It sounded quite like something else in his dream, but as the noise persisted he slowly came to his senses and recognized it for what it was.

As soon as he could summon his vocal chords, he shouted, "Go away!"

"I will not do it! I will not make his potion anymore!" came the impassioned response.

Dumbledore groaned and hastily pulled on his dressing gown. 'I'm getting too old for this,' he thought to himself. 'Temper tantrums from a wizard nearly a century younger than me–what more can I be expected to deal with?'

He opened the door to a very angry Severus Snape. "I will not, and you cannot make me!" yelled the Potions master, sticking out his chin in defiance.

"Yes, I heard you the first time, quite clearly. You will not make Lupin's Wolfsbane potion for him anymore," said Dumbledore. "And you won't need to, because he has found another source."

Severus wavered. He had not expected this possibility. "Well," he said at last, "you better not come running to me when it doesn't work, and you wind up with a werewolf running loose on the premises." After this remonstration, Snape turned on his heel and angrily stalked off, secretly hoping that his dire warning would come true. Maybe a student would actually die this time–that would show them all!

* * *

The cozy scent of evergreen filled the Great Hall that Christmas morning, mixed together with a hint of cinnamon, and the room quickly became strewn with scraps of ribbon and gift wrap as all the presents were finally unveiled.

Professor Snape was not entirely displeased with the cleaning solution Ron gave him. After a brief examination the Professor stated, "This will do, Weasley." Coming from Snape these were practically words of acclamation.

Hermione's present to Madam Pomfrey consisted of several skeins of wool yarn and a pair of knitting needles that were magically guaranteed to never drop stitches. Madam Pomfrey expressed her enthusiastic approval. "How clever!" she cried, beaming at the young witch.

Ginny opened her gift and peeked furtively over at Harry, who was busy unwrapping his own present.

"I think he likes you," Elizabeth said to Ginny in a hushed whisper.

Ginny smiled a little. 'Maybe one day,' she thought to herself.

From Professor Trelawney, Harry received a magical cryptographic device for sharing secret messages with his friends. One could pass notes back and forth in class with the assurance that, if caught by the teacher (or if intercepted by a nasty Slytherin) the code was virtually unbreakable even against Aparecium or other similar incantations. Ron reckoned this was Trelawney's way of apologizing to Harry for all the times she predicted his death.

"I mean after all, she could've just given you a crystal ball or something," said Ron. He found his own gift under another tree–a pair of vivid screaming socks from Gladrags Wizardwear. The note attached read _'From: D. Malfoy'_. "We ought to check for hexes first," said Ron. "Just to be on the safe side."

Draco received a plain leather coin purse from Professor Dumbledore, which appeared innocuous enough until he dropped a gold galleon inside–only to see it disappear into thin air. The coin rematerialized in one of Ron's new socks, much to Draco's dismay and righteous indignation. Ron was quite overjoyed to find his present was far from hexed–but rather a source of unexpected income. Dumbledore observed the transaction with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

As for the Headmaster, he received a bag of sherbet lemons from the first year student Jessup. "So predictable," he muttered when the boy was out of earshot. "This game has been rather disappointing; everyone has selected appropriate gifts for one another. That wasn't supposed to happen. Where is the drama? Where are the shenanigans?" Dumbledore lamented.

He peered around at the black cauldron from which the Secret Santa pairs were drawn. It was sitting innocently on the sideboard.

"What are you playing at, eh?" Dumbledore asked it, his voice tinged with suspicion. "Where do you keep that brain of yours, anyway?"

Severus Snape approached and took a seat beside the Headmaster, cradling his newly acquired bottle of cauldron cleaner. "We have had quite enough shenanigans for the time being," he stated. "And if I remember correctly, you did advise them yourself to pick out appropriate gifts."

"I was attempting to use reverse psychology."

"I think you went a little overboard with the threat of seven weeks' bad luck."

"Oh, I made that part up," said Dumbledore.

Snape breathed a sigh of relief, for Hagrid did not look very impressed with the old beaver hat he'd given him. "I, for one, am very pleased with my gift," he said. "The outcome was always in doubt, given the precarious structure of this game–it was potentially disastrous!–but Weasley surprised me. He must have had help from someone. Granger most likely."

"Oh look, Poppy got some knitting needles from Hermione," observed Dumbledore. "I've always wondered how that worked, knitting. How does one make all the yarn interlock like that?"

"Well, it's quite simple," declared Snape. "You make a loop, and you put a loop through that loop, and then another loop through that loop-"

Dumbledore shook his head in bafflement. "I'll just never understand it," he lamented. No matter how many times he tried to mentally manipulate an imaginary strand of yarn, he just could not visualize it for the life of him.

* * *

Minerva was having trouble finding her present. She'd circled round the Christmas trees more than once, and not a single package was left. She was about to cry foul, when Remus finally decided to put an end to her fruitless searching.

"My dear," Remus said softly in her ear. "Follow me."

With his hand on the small of her back, Remus guided Minerva into the greenhouse and together they walked along the path until they came to a more secluded area. "If you haven't guessed by now, I am your Secret Santa. And I feel like I've somehow cheated at this game, since I was planning to give you something all along, even before I packed my bags to come here," he said. He opened a small jewelry box and presented Minerva with a pair of ruby earrings. "They belonged to my great-grandmother. I wanted to give you something special, and I thought, 'Well, you can never go wrong with jewelry.' And they'll look much better on you than at the bottom of a box."

Minerva admired the fiery gems she held in the palm of her hand. Jewelry was not something she would buy for herself, but it was a very thoughtful gesture on his part. It was difficult for men to choose gifts, and so they usually went straight for shiny baubles.

In spite of herself, she felt a slight rush of vanity at the thought of donning them. She envisioned how they would lie just at the curve of her neck, against her porcelain skin. "They're lovely. She had very good taste," said Minerva approvingly.

"She would have liked you, I'm sure. My parents would like you too. They have mentioned a desire to meet you one of these days. But that is only if you want to, of course."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, they seem rather enamored from what I've told them about you," Remus said.

"Are you sure you told them everything about me?" Minerva asked, casting a doubtful eye upon him. "Such as the fact I'm twenty-five years older than you? And a widow? Who also used to be your school teacher?"

Remus laughed. "They don't care about things like that."

"In that case, I would be happy to meet them," said Minerva. "And while we're on the subject, my mother has also expressed an interest in meeting you."

"Ah, this is the trial I've heard so much about. And at the end she will decide whether or not I measure up. Doubtless she will dismiss me as unsuitable for her daughter, on account of my violent tendencies every month at the full moon."

Minerva rolled her eyes.

Remus continued, "Or else she will not want you to commit yourself to the care of a man who will only become more of a burden to her as the years go on…"

"Also more nonsense," Minerva gently reprimanded him.

Remus would have continued to lay bare his insecurities under the thinly veiled guise of humor, but Minerva stopped him, saying, "Everyone is a burden to everyone else in this world. But what are we to do? Go running off into the forest to live as hermits? No, that is not the solution."

Her eyes burned with a leonine ferocity; she knew her mind, and it was made up. She wanted him, the whole of him, complete with all of his imperfections. His cheerful demeanor was not due to naivety, but to something more permanent. The youth can freely rejoice in the world because sorrow and hardship have not yet made their introduction. But Remus was well past his youth, and he had known his share of suffering. He fought dearly, summoning an inner strength of will that he could harness and turn outward against the steady onslaught of cruelty he encountered in mankind. And still, he pursued joy and happiness. He would make a worthy companion.

"What is the solution then?" asked Remus.

"To love one another," Minerva said.

* * *

The presents all exchanged, Draco stood alone by the windows looking down upon the quiet, gray landscape below.

Ginny quietly sidled up beside him while he was lost in contemplation. "A penny for your thoughts," she said, startling him. Such an odd, antiquated phrase it was–a linguistic relic from a bygone era. And it certainly didn't account for inflation over the centuries.

Draco took a long time to respond. When at last he spoke, it was with much hesitation, as if the nerve signals from his brain took a very long detour before reaching his tongue. "I think I've done something wrong," he finally said.

Ginny assured him, "You can tell me. I'm good with secrets."

Draco paused, looking down. "It's about a potion I gave you and Hermione," he admitted.

Ginny said, "Oh, that. Don't worry, I don't hold it against you."

"What? You already know?"

"I have experience with these kinds of things. Don't forget, there was a whole school year where I was possessed by a dark wizard. I knew it had to be _something_. How _else_ could I explain you and Hermione?"

"It wasn't dark magic, I swear," he replied quickly. "It was just an open-mindedness potion."

Ginny replied, "Ahhh… well, it probably didn't have any effect on me, if it's any consolation. I'm already pretty open-minded as it is. I'm a bisexual poly girl."

"A what?" Draco blurted.

Ginny explained, "I like both girls and boys. And I'm polyamorous. It's a new term; I invented it myself. Then I found out somebody else already invented it before me, but that's just the way it is. Anyway, I had a lot of fun with you that night, but I'm already seeing Neville and Elizabeth right now and I'm happy with them. They're both very open-minded too. I guess they'd have to be," she ended with a laugh.

"You're very interesting, you know that?" said Draco, giving her a sly look.

"Thank you." Ginny smiled. "Oh, I wouldn't recommend telling Hermione about the potion. She'd just get really angry and never talk to you ever again. But you can probably stop giving it to her now. I think you guys can take it from here without any more help," she said with a confidence that only a teenage girl could have in these matters.

Draco gave a nod. Her nonchalant attitude toward the potion was slightly disconcerting, but he let it go since he was not eager to incriminate himself any further.

"So when you kissed Hermione..." Draco began to say, as if something had just dawned on him. But Ginny was already out of earshot, having run away to rejoin her friends. Draco watched her from afar with a slightly bemused look on his face.

* * *

Sibyll Trelawney sat at a round table in her lofty tower room overlooking a spread of Tarot cards. She carefully flipped them over one by one, reading their impressions and observing where they fell in the layout. There was the Page of Wands, dressed in red and holding aloft her fiery staff; another card was overturned, and another, and there was the Page of Cups with his golden chalice in hand. As usual, his fish was leaping about as if trying to escape from the cup. The page looked up at Sibyll as if asking for help with his pet so that it would not jump out of the water and onto the ground below, where it would surely perish.

Sibyll Trelawney sensed a slight vibration; it was as if something had changed in the atmosphere. A subtle shift in the matrix of time and space had occurred, and its gentle echo reverberated throughout the universe. Such vibrations were happening all the time all over the cosmos, and were not all that unusual in the grand scheme of things. They did, however, have the effect of altering the course of events yet to come, and keeping track of them was imperative to one whose job it is to predict the future. Sibyll Trelawney made a mental note of it and then drew her attention back to the cards in front of her, relishing the merciful lack of noise from the floors below.

**The End**


End file.
